


The Parent

by elsarenard



Series: The Responsibility Saga [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Creepy Moriarty, F/M, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss of Parent(s), Murder, OOC Sherlock, Parent Sherlock, Parent-Child Relationship, Parentlock, Pregnancy, Sherlock is a Good Parent, Sherlolly - Freeform, Suspense, Violence, caring!Sherlock, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 01:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 135,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3791455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsarenard/pseuds/elsarenard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty’s at work again, and this time his destruction has gone too far. After the tragic death of his closest friend, Sherlock not only finds himself struggling to move forward and find Moriarty, but also to raise the child John left behind in his care.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel of The Sitter. However, you can probably get by not reading the first one in order to understand this. Alex is John and Mary’s five year old son (my own creation)  
> WARNINGS: rated M because it contains character deaths, descriptions of violence, murder, harm to children, suspense/very dark moments, Moriarty being a total psycho with no morals etc.. Will put warnings on other chapters if I think of any other questionable content.  
> If you want smut, this isn't a story for you. I don't write any kind of graphic sex in this story. So leave now if that's what you want.  
> Lastly, some people have expected fluffy cute Parentlock. There is some fluff but a lot of angsty suspense too. You have been warned.

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at the screen. His mind had somehow come to a complete stop. What he had just witnessed seemed the material of some outlandish nightmare. And yet it somehow was a reality.

Moriarty’s sneering face glared out at him from the laptop screen, words flashing across in quick succession.

“You”

“Lost”

“Sherlock”

Moriarty winked at him from the screen.

“Told”

“You”

“I’d”

“Burn”

Moriarty gave a cheeky grin.

“The”

“HEART”

“Out”

“Of”

Moriarty blew a kiss.

“You”

And then it flashed to a shot of the fire still burning, though thankfully the two forms engulfed in it had long since gone still and the screaming had stopped.

Sherlock’s entire body felt tight, he was frozen in place still staring at the disgusting video he’d just been sent. Surely this wasn’t real. Surely this had to be some kind of trick. Would Moriarty really play his hand so quickly? Why not use John and Mary to bargain with like he’d done last time? No, instead it was all over in a brief flash of fire.

His phone rang and he involuntarily jumped. Glancing at the number he sighed. Normally this wouldn’t be something he’d do, but tonight was the exception to every rule. Sherlock picked up.

“Mycroft.”

“Sherlock.” A pause. “Moriarty has sent you something, hasn’t he?”

“Yes,” he could barely make out that one word. His throat felt too tight, like he’d tied his scarf on with far too little slack. How was he supposed to go on. Was this was normal people felt like? God, was this what John had felt like when he’d seen him splashed out on the pavement supposedly dead? John and Mary. Gone.

“So you know then?” Mycroft asked.

“Have you found the bodies?” Sherlock managed to whisper.

“I’m afraid so,” Mycroft sighed. “John and Mary, there’s no doubt.”

“And their unborn child,” Sherlock added.

It seemed so unreal. Moriarty’s decision to finally strike five years later. Then again, it was like him in some ways. His attempts to be utterly unpredictable. He’d taken Sherlock by surprise somehow. And the consulting detective was determined not to let that happen again.

After a long moment Sherlock at last came to an important realization.

“What about Alex?”

“There’s no sign of him at the scene,” Mycroft sighed. “I fear Moriarty may have kept him for future leverage over you.”

Sherlock let his mind roll through the possibilities. Without another word to his brother he rose and reached for his coat.

“You’re going to look for him?” Mycroft apparently deduced.

Sherlock sighed. “Yes.” And he snapped the phone shut without another word, heading off towards the door, determined.

Even if Alex was gone he would find him before Moriarty could do something to him. First place to start, the family’s apartment. It seemed unlikely Moriarty would just have left him sitting there, but even so it was worth a check.

At the apartment Sherlock began his journey through, trying to pull his emotions back even as reminders of both John and Mary flashed past him. He busied himself making deductions, looking at the evidence before him and letting information filter through. There’d been a struggle. Lamp knocked over. Glass shattered across the floor. Mary had been grabbed first. John had tried to put up a fight, gone complacent when a gun had been put to her head (or something of the like he assumed). His eyes traced the area for any sign of Alex. None. The boy was nowhere to be seen.

Brain working frantically, Sherlock examined every detail he could. Alex’s schedule…would he have been at school while this was occurring? No, the clock had been knocked off that coffee table and had broken at precisely 6:12. Considering he’d had a call from John at 9:00 that morning Sherlock could conclude it had to have been the evening instead. Alex would have been home by that point.

“Alex,” Sherlock called. He had to be here. Part of him was unwilling to accept the idea of Moriarty having him in his clutches.

He wandered down to Alex’s room, though on the way down the hall he remembered a conversation with the boy last time he’d babysat. Alex had mentioned a hiding place. “I always stump my dad when he plays hide-and-seek with me.”

Sherlock had hmmed at the time and gone back to looking at his laptop. Thank heavens he’d heard the first part though. There was a place in this apartment, but it had to be somewhere that would stump even Moriarty…no not stump…trump…

A spot in which only a child could fit.

His foot sounded against a different texture in the floor and Sherlock paused. A crawlspace! Yes! He reached down and yanked the covering board with fabric on it off of the hole, staring down into the small space.

“Alex?” he called. “Alex, it’s Sherlock.”

After just a short pause a little voice echoed from the space.

“Sherlock?”

He breathed a sigh as he tried to stick more of his head inside.

“Alex, come out of there. It’s safe now,” Sherlock said.

In the gloom he could just barely make out the boy’s small form huddled in the tiny space. Sherlock pulled his head back from the crawlspace, allowing Alex enough room to begin working his way out. Sherlock managed to think to stick out a hand in time to help the boy back out. He wasn’t really surprised when Alex launched himself forward and suddenly his arms were full of boy. Sherlock held him in a loose embrace.

He felt numb. Patting the boy and comforting him. He’d done this before, but it hadn’t been quite the same. There’d been the knowledge that if he didn’t calm Alex down John or Mary could do so when they returned from their date or whatever they were out doing.

“They’re dead aren’t they, Uncle Sherlock?” Alex whispered.

Sherlock thought about everything John had told him of timing, of talking to children, of being too honest…and he decided to ignore it.

“Yes,” he admitted. It would do no good for Alex to live on a false hope. Better to get things over with now.

The boy let out a muffled sob and burrowed closer. Still, the heartbreak had to come at some point. Though perhaps he would have preferred not having to deal with it directly.

There was a knock at the door and Sherlock rose to his feet, still holding the boy. Alex squirmed a bit, but he held him tightly, refusing to let him go as the door opened and in stepped—

Sherlock breathed yet another sigh.

“You’ve found him.” Mycroft’s nose wrinkled at the sight of the crying boy. “Well, best to take him away from here for now. Likely to only continue bringing up traumatic memories.”

“For god’s sake, Mycroft. He’s right here,” Sherlock snapped. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“Nonetheless, brother dear, he shouldn’t stay in this place tonight. Come, we’ll take him to child services until they work out legal guardianship details.”

Sherlock froze. “Child services? Surely there’s a better alternative?”

“I will ensure he’s well cared for and that surveillance is kept on him for a time. If Moriarty makes any moves around him we’ll know. In the meantime, it’s the best solution.”

Logic. Perhaps that was true. If this was any other child Sherlock never would have disputed Mycroft’s thinking.

Sherlock eased Alex off of him and onto his own feet. Alex sniffled a bit but didn’t argue as Sherlock pointed to Mycroft and told him everything would be alright.

However, before Mycroft could lead Alex towards the door, Sherlock remembered something and dashed back into the boy’s room, snatching up the stuffed dinosaur toy, a picture book, and a photo of John and Mary on the boy’s nightstand, shoving all three into the boy’s school backpack.

Mycroft arched a brow but nonetheless allowed Alex to come over and take the things.

Sherlock watched from the doorway of the newly vacated apartment as Alex slipped into the backseat of the car with Mycroft. And though he tried, Sherlock couldn’t keep a single tear from leaking out and running down a cheek at the thought of the ends of his friends and the fate to which they’d left their child.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock finds out John and Mary's confusing intentions, keeps hoping to find Moriarty, and ultimately ends up with a big project on his hands.

Pacing about the apartment, Sherlock’s mind wandered through the various details of the case. Two dead bodies. Moriarty somewhere out there. The taunting video. John and Mary—no, the two victims. Them. The two people he’d cared for most…

He couldn’t let himself think like this. No. Sherlock tried to disconnect, tried to pull back. But it did no good. He was unable to pull his heart out of the equation for this particular case, even if he wanted his brain to have sole focus.

Still, there were elements that were distracting him. Ones he could perhaps finish thinking about before moving on. Without another thought Sherlock found his phone from where he’d thrown it earlier and dialed his brother.

“Two calls in a week, brother mine, isn’t this a record?” Mycroft said from the other end.

“Oh don’t be smart, Mycroft,” Sherlock grumbled. “I’m calling about Alex. I want to know where he’s been placed.”

“And why would that be? Of what use is a toddler to you?”

“He’s almost six, clearly not a toddler, and I was wondering if it’s possible he heard anything from Moriarty when the man kidnapped his parents.”

Mycroft was silent a moment. “That is a possibility. They’re trying to find a family to place him with, looking for an ideal situation for him.”

Sherlock frowned. “What? Who are the boy’s next guardians? Didn’t John and Mary leave instruction?”

Mycroft let out a long sigh. “Sherlock, think about it, Mary has no family, John has only his sister who is an alcoholic with no control over her addiction, not at all suitable for children. There is no one. He will be placed somewhere for prospective adoption. He’s young; he’ll probably find a very loving family.”

“But surely John and Mary listed someone to care for him?” Sherlock remembered the way Mary would kiss Alex’s cheek, the way John held him to his chest when he carried him. Clear signs of affection and care. There was no way they’d have left him without some plan.

“Yes they did, but that option has been ruled unsuitable. And besides, it was never legally confirmed. They were in the process of making adjustments to the will.”

“Who was it? Why aren’t their wishes being respected, legal confirmation aside?”

Mycroft was likely rubbing his temple based on the strain in his voice. “Sherlock, I really don’t see why it matters. I can have the boy brought over for an interview sometime. I’ll let you know when he’s placed somewhere as well if that helps you in some capacity.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” Sherlock said. “It had to be a friend if not a family member. Some mate of John’s then? Mary probably would have had more reliable people in her life, so I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to find someone appropriate.”

“You’re not going to drop this,” Mycroft stated.

“No, I want to know what’s wrong with their decision. I wish John and Mary’s wishes to be fulfilled.”

“If you must know, Sherlock, the person listed is…you.”

There was a long moment where it felt like someone had taken hold of his brain and ordered it to stop working. A moment of utter inability to process, his mind freezing up to an extent that he almost was concerned he’d misheard.

“So yes, that is why such a placement has been ruled unsuitable. You must understand, Sherlock, you’re not an ideal person to care for a child. With all the problems with drugs, your general lack of hygiene and the hazards of your flat, your inability to care for yourself at times…no a child would not be well suited to being your ward.”

“They…they never even asked me,” Sherlock murmured.

“Of course not, they were in the process of changing it,” Mycroft said. “They probably were going to soon. Though for the life of me I cannot comprehend why they did so in the first place.”

Sherlock let his thoughts drift over the past few weeks. John had been by the flat a few days ago.

_“So…you know how Alex has really started to like you?” John said. “Every time he’s over to see you he won’t stop talking about it after. He adores you, Sherlock. I think you’re like his new hero.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Well, Mary and I’ve been thinking…you’ve done so well with him, see…and…well you do like him somewhat, don’t you, Sherlock?”_

_“He’s tolerable for a child.”_

_“Well…Mary and I are looking for—“ he broke off looking at his phone. “Shoot, problem at the clinic. I have to go. I’ll be back to talk with you later, all right? This is important, so we’ll find a time in the next few days, yes?”_

He’d ignored that. He hadn’t realized at the time. No, that had been it. That had been when John was trying to inform him that he and Mary were reconsidering where they’d send Alex if something happened. And they thought of him somehow. Sure, he’d watched Alex a few times, but guardianship? He thought back to John’s wedding all those years before.

“You’re my best friend,” John had said.

But did that mean this role of responsibility? Taking in a child? Caring for it, feeding it, loving…loving it. Could he do that?

“I want…I want to try, Mycroft. John wanted this, I…If he believed me capable then I don’t see why not. I’ve been clean for almost a year now.”

Mycroft sighed. “I feared this might happen. Sherlock, just because John somehow deluded himself into thinking your babysitting skills proved you capable of parenthood does not mean that you should go through with this. There are other options.”

“Other options that will keep him away from Moriarty?” Sherlock countered, slamming his hand down on the table. “For god’s sake, Mycroft, think of that at least. He’ll want to kill the boy too.”

“And your clear interest in the child will only further motivate him, haven’t you considered this, Sherlock? He’ll prove even more of a weak spot for you, an even better target.” Mycroft sighed again. Sherlock pictured him rubbing his temple, eyes closed.

“I want to do this, Mycroft. Let him stay with me for a while, send people to evaluate me and if I’m deemed unfit…he can go elsewhere. But for a time let me _try_!”

Mycroft probably was pulling at his hair. Sherlock almost smiled, though he decided against it in case his brother deduced such.

“Fine. We can attempt a trial. But if I so much as suspect you’ve relapsed I will have him pulled. Protecting him from Moriarty, yes that is important. But even more so you need to protect him from yourself. This isn’t going to be easy, brother. I hope you don’t have any misguided notions of this being as simple as other things you’ve done before. You may be a genius, Sherlock, but parenting requires a whole new set of skills you likely don’t yet possess.”

“Hmm, we’ll see,” Sherlock muttered. “Bring him by first thing tomorrow.”

“You’d best have the place ready by then, if that’s the case,” Mycroft said, and Sherlock almost though the caught a hint of enjoyment in his brother’s voice. “Oh yes, don’t be fooled. With a trial comes inspections of the child’s living environment. You’ll be expected to keep the place tidy, not leave body parts lying about or any other potentially dangerous items or substances. Best wishes to you, brother. I look forward to seeing you in your new role as daddy.”

“Yes yes. Any leads on Moriarty?”

“None at the moment. I will inform you the moment I find something, though I suspect at this point you’ll be ahead of me in that respect. We’re quite busy at the moment dealing with the Larsen Scandal from last week. I promise I am doing my best. But this man is elusive. We’d practically thought him dead for the last five years with his sudden disappearance again. Whatever he was doing, he’s built up new safe havens for himself far better than those of before.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and hung up. He smiled before glancing around the place. His expression morphed to one of distaste, realizing suddenly how much there was to do. Hmm… chemical compounds spread across the kitchen counters, the dead rats in the refrigerator, the knives he’d stuck in the wall practicing his throwing skills. Well this might take a while, but he’d hopefully have it ready tomorrow, prepared for when Alex entered his life again, though not as some random child…but as his now permanent ward. He could barely think it.

So instead of focusing on the realities of parenthood, Sherlock busied himself with cleaning, wondering if he could convince Mrs. Hudson to come help him. A mention of Alex would likely serve as an appropriate manipulation. Sherlock turned and walked towards the stairs, hoping with her help they’d have the place ready by the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, another chapter! Somehow feeling motivated this week. Please leave a review. In the meantime, on to the next chapter!


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex begins his life in a new home, Sherlock tries to get some clues, and an unexpected visitor drops by 221 B.

With a little bit of encouragement to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock did manage to clean up the flat by morning, or at least enough so that Mrs. Hudson found it passable.

She waited with him in his sitting room, sipping a cup of tea, and chattering on about the joy of children and what a dear Alex was. Sherlock tried to tune her out as he drank his own cup, staring towards the window every few minutes, watching the rain continue pouring down. Mycroft had texted to say Alex would be there around ten.

After a long fifteen minutes of listening to the older woman ramble, Sherlock was glad to see a dark car pull up in front of 221 B. Mycroft stepped out with Alex at his side. He withdrew his umbrella and held it over the both of them. Sherlock took in the boy he’d grown familiar with, his rucksack with him, and his thumb in his mouth again. Sherlock sighed and debated how lenient he’d be about the bad habit. The boy had clearly been upset by the death of his parents.

Mrs. Hudson rose to her feet, smiling and vibrating with excitement as she went to the door. Sherlock rolled his eyes but found himself standing as well, even as he waited for his landlady to return with his new ward and Mycroft.

He heard the door open, Mycroft greet Mrs. Hudson even as she obviously focused her attention on the child instead.

They came up the stairs together. Alex had removed his thumb to chomp on a biscuit Mrs. Hudson had provided him. He smiled when he saw Sherlock and dropped her hand to run over.

“So I get to live with you now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft cleared his throat.

“For now,” Sherlock clarified. “If it’s ruled acceptable.”

Alex’s head tilted, but he didn’t question.

“Now, the place looks tolerable, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, glancing around. “Alex’s things are being packed up from the Watson apartment and will be brought here sometime this afternoon. Harriet Watson has been asked to go through the rest, she’ll decide what things of John and Mary should be left to him and what can be thrown out.”

Sherlock nodded and let his gaze follow Alex as the boy wandered around the now familiar flat, marveling at how much cleaner it was.

“You will expect check-ins,” Mycroft said with a sigh. He sent a sharp look towards Sherlock. “I won’t give you warnings. I won’t accept any excuses if you start using again. I want what is best for both of you, and I do intend to make sure that is what is happening here. Am I clear?”

Sherlock nodded, half smiling as Alex said hello to the smiley face and the skull on the wall. They’d become familiar friends in his visits.

“Oh it’ll be so good to have someone else around here,” Mrs. Hudson said, beaming at all of them. “And a child at that. Never had any of my own of course, but I always loved the thought of having someone to look after. And Alex is such a dear.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Well do check in on him from time to time then, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure Sherlock would appreciate a little extra help.”

“I can try,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Well, I promised my sister I’d call her this morning. So I’d best go do that. I’ll see you around, Alex, dear.”

The boy turned to give a sweet smile and nodded her way. Sherlock let his attention refocus on his brother who was still giving him a meaningful look.

“It will be fine,” Sherlock said. “You may leave, Mycroft.”

He pursed his lips but did walk to the door. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief as he headed down the stairs, eventually disappearing out of view. He glanced back towards Alex.

“Why don’t you have a seat,” Sherlock suggested, recalling the first time he’d babysat telling the boy just that.

Alex set his knapsack aside and slid into John’s old chair. Sherlock wondered if eventually he’d stop thinking of these items in terms of John. After a time they’d become Alex’s instead… John’s room, John’s chair… given to his son instead.

“Alex, I need you to tell me about what happened when Moriarty came to your house and kidnapped your parents. I need you to tell me everything.”

He gave a shrug and lowered his head. “Don’t remember much…”

“Well, whatever you can remember.”

“Dunno.”

Sherlock sighed. The boy had curled in on himself again. Shrinking back into some kind of a shell.

He rose to his feet and stalked over to the boy, kneeling down on his level, peering at him. Alex looked up again.

“I need to know,” Sherlock said. “Don’t you want me to find the people who hurt your parents? Don’t you want them brought to justice?”

Alex shrugged again, lower lip trembling. “Are my mummy and daddy in heaven now, Sherlock?”

“Heaven isn’t real,” Sherlock snapped without thinking. “It’s what people make up to feel better about their uncertainty of death. Heaven is for idiots who want to believe in imaginary constructs such as God and religion and all that nonsense.”

Alex sniffled and then tears started rolling down his cheeks before he was sobbing in rough hiccups, burying his face in his arms as his whole body quaked.

Sherlock shook his head and rose again, deciding the questioning would go nowhere with Alex being so ridiculous. He stalked off towards his bedroom to find his laptop, deciding to do some searching on his own if his witness wasn’t going to be of any help.

He continued to hear muffled crying from the living room. Perhaps this was a poor idea. Maybe Mycroft was righ—

No. The idea was ludicrous. Mycroft was never right. Sherlock let out a groan as he sank onto his bed and grabbed the device from where he’d left it half under the sheets. He opened up the computer and set about doing some preliminary news searches. He texted a contact of his homeless network along with Lestrade. Feeling perhaps hopeful of leads, Sherlock almost missed the knock at the door.

“Sherlock,” Alex’s voice came through the barrier.

The man sighed and went to open it, finding the boy standing there looking small and lost and scared.

“‘M sorry,” the boy whispered. “Please don’t be mad at me”

“I need your help. Boohooing isn’t going to help me,” Sherlock said.

“I didn’t mean to,” Alex said, even as he sniffled a little more. “It was really scary, Sherlock.”

Sherlock let out a humph but did have to admit the boy was probably scared. Moriarty was a dangerous criminal, and Alex was only five…

“What can I do to make it less scary?” Sherlock asked, trying to resist curling his lips or indicating any level of disgust.

Alex thought a minute. “Can you guess it like you did that one time?”

“I can’t guess what Moriarty said or did precisely without you telling me, Alex. If I could I wouldn’t be asking you,” Sherlock pointed out.

Alex shrugged, shoulders flopping down so that he slouched and his entire posture matched the drooping pout on his face

“What do you normally do when you’re scared?” Sherlock sighed, reaching up to rub his temple, wondering how parents prevented constant migraines if this was how this sort of thing worked.

His face brightened after a moment. “When I got scared at home mum would make me hot chocolate and we’d curl up on the couch with some of my toys under a blanket and then I’d tell her why I was scared and she’d kiss me and hold me and tell me that I didn’t have to be scared cause she’d always protect me.”

Sherlock was incapable of stopping his facial movements reacting to that. The disgusting level of… cuddly cuteness was enough to make one vomit. Still, the cogs in his mind turned through the possibilities there. Hot chocolate…he had no clue how to even go about making such a thing…. Alex only had one of his toys with him…kissing ew…cuddling and holding— no. This was absolutely repulsive.

What had he done as a child if he’d felt some level of fear? Had he experienced such a thing? Hmm… he recalled petting Redbeard a good amount. Reading books to distract himself. And—

His head shot up. Oh yes. Perfect. Sherlock snatched the blankets off his bed, nearly sending the laptop flying.

Alex stared at him as he stomped off towards the living room. The boy trailed in his wake, still somewhat uncertain after all of the drama of earlier.

Sherlock pulled the chairs from the table over towards the two arm chairs. He glanced back towards Alex who still appeared rather lost, thumb back in his mouth. Sherlock let his attention focus back on his work, arranging the chairs in a sort of circle before beginning to drape blankets over the framework. A soft oh from behind him alerted him to the fact that Alex had figured it out.

Spreading the final blanket on the ground beneath the newly constructed fort, Sherlock turned to look at the boy, finding some level of satisfaction in the smile on his face.

“Cool!” Alex said, darting over to explore Sherlock’s new creation. He grinned as he got down on hands and knees and crawled into the fort. Sherlock chuckled and grabbed for one of the lamps, dragging it so it could rest in the small area with them, lighting up the blanketed cavern.

“When I was a little boy I used to pretend I was a pirate,” Sherlock said as he settled himself on the blankets beside Alex. “And this was my cave where I’d bury my treasure and hide important things…it was where I knew everything I wanted to keep hidden would be safe. This pirate cave has never been discovered, Alex. I’m sharing it with you now trusting you will keep it safe too…and know that in here you don’t have to worry about Moriarty or any other people who might frighten you.”

Alex gave a feeble nod. Sherlock reached a hand over to Alex’s backpack and pulled out the soft dino and handed it to the boy, watching as he cuddled it close, though thankfully the thumb didn’t go anywhere near his mouth.

“Can you tell me what happened, Alex?”

The boy let out a strangled whimper before crawling over to Sherlock. The man froze as the boy threw his arms around the detective, half in his lap, the dinosaur having fallen to the side. Sherlock sighed, scooped up the boy and then the soft toy, cradling both close to him so that he felt Alex’s muscles began to relax again.

“Mum answered the door,” Alex said. “She screamed. I heard a man laughing and saying something to her, like…’gotcha’ or something. And then dad yelled and the man said to come quiet or he’d kill mum… dad called him lots of bad names and then yelled at me to hide. I thought of the crawlspace and went there. I heard him coming across the floor. He started saying my name…all…songlike…you know in this creepy way. He was angry when he discovered I was in the crawlspace cause he couldn’t get me down there. He screamed at me and said he’d kill my mum and dad…but they kept telling me they’d die anyways…”

He burst into sobs again and Sherlock made a soft shushing noise.

“Mum said to cover my ears and to not come out again til you came to get me. She said it was ok and not to listen to him.” Alex whimpered softly but continued. “I covered my ears. Could still hear screaming, but he decided apparently I wasn’t worth it so he left. I think…I think I heard something before he went about leaving me as a surprise… and then he said something about… something about a boathouse…”

“That’s very good, Alex,” Sherlock said. He attempted a smile, though his thoughts were already circulating so quickly it was difficult to focus on the task.

“Will you stop him, Sherlock?” Alex whispered.

“Of course,” Sherlock said automatically.

He set the boy back down on the blanket. He crawled out of the fort and went to find his laptop. By the time he returned Alex was already immersed in the book he’d brought with him, looking over information about various predators in the natural world. Pleased to have found him quiet and occupied, Sherlock set about searching for boathouses in the area. It had to be something abandoned of course. Not too far from the Watson’s residence. There were only a few options that met such a requirement. He sent the three most likely listings to Lestrade, though he wondered if he should go investigate himself. He became more involved in looking at activity around that area, hoping to find something of interest, any clues as to Moriarty’s involvement.

“Hoo-hoo.” He looked up to find Mrs. Hudson peering in through a gap in the fort. “There you two are. I was just coming up to see if you’d like some tea. Oh aren’t you having fun, both you boys doing your research in a tent.”

Alex smiled. “I’m learning ‘bout tigers, Mrs. Hudson!”

“Oh are you? Look at how dreadful those claws are!”

“Tea?” Sherlock said, clearing his throat.

“And biscuits,” Alex piped up. “‘M really hungry.”

“Did you have lunch, sweetheart?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

He shook his head, drawing Sherlock out of his focus on the computer screen.

“What time is it?” he demanded of his landlady.

“Nearly three,” she said. “Oh Sherlock, please tell me you didn’t forget to give him lunch!”

The detective had the decency to look ashamed as she tisked and scolded. She offered a hand to Alex and promised to make him a sandwich.

“Would you be so kind as to make me one as well?” Sherlock asked, and was startled when she snorted and pulled Alex away without another word.

He rolled his eyes and decided he wasn’t hungry anyways. He went back to work at his computer, losing track of time so that when Alex came back he hardly noticed.

“Mrs. Hudson’s made dinner…she says it’s just this once. Want to come eat something?” Alex said.

“Hmm? Dinner? You just ate lunch,” Sherlock pointed out.

The boy giggled. “That was three hours ago, Sherlock, and it was just a half a sandwich. I stayed and talked with her and helped her make dinner. You should come eat. It’s not good to skip meals, you know.”

Sherlock muttered something under his breath but did shut the computer and get up to go with Alex downstairs. Mrs. Hudson shot him a look from the stove but didn’t say a word as he seated himself at the table with his new ward.

“It’s nothing fancy, but I figured it’d be a good meal for a growing boy,” Mrs. Hudson said as she ruffled Alex’s hair on the way by. She set a steaming pot on the table and ladled up portions of stew. Sherlock felt his stomach rumble in agreement at the smell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

He dug into his stew though was paused in his efforts when there was a knock at the door. Mrs. Hudson rose to her feet to get it, reassuring the two of them they could continue eating. Sherlock deduced what he could from the knock. A woman most likely based on the lack of real force behind it, though it had been a short rap in quick succession. Someone rather impatient then. Hmm…

Mrs. Hudson greeted the door cheerily as she generally did. He heard an exclamation of surprise, then some soft murmurings that had to be sympathy of some kind. Alex’s ears perked up as the stranger wandered back with the landlady. He grinned and jumped to his feet.

“Aunt Harry!”

Even without Alex’s exclamation, Sherlock could have figured out who she was. Short choppy blond hair, bloodshot blue eyes, that same familiar nose and similar yet more slender facial features. She smiled and a wave of familiarity overwhelmed him, watching as Harriet scooped up her nephew.

“You’re getting so big,” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Oh look at you, nearly six now, right?

He smiled and nodded. “Did you bring my stuff over?’

“Yes, I packed up some of your things and brought them over. We’ll get the rest in the next few days, alright?” she asked.

Alex gave a grin and hugged her causing her smile to soften a bit as she hugged him back. Her eyes locked on the detective almost immediately.

“I hope…I hope we have an understanding,” Sherlock began.

“What that you have people in the government who can pull strings for you?” Harry snapped.

Alex winced at the harsh voices and Sherlock decided to change tactics.

“I’ll come help you move his things,” he suggested.

“But Sherlock, your food will get cold,” Mrs. Hudson said.

“No, it’s fine. I can reheat it if need be. Harry will want to be on her way to go visit her…” he looked her over and found the clues, “girlfriend in a bit. I’ll help with the boxes so she can be off faster. You two continue without me.”

Harry scowled but set Alex down and walked back towards the door with Sherlock following behind her. He kept staring at her face, admiring the similarities of John’s that were now denied him thanks to Moriarty. Alex had these too, but boyhood kept them soft and less distinct. Hers, while feminine, brought up strong memories of his old friend. John…the mere name sent waves of unexplored emotions through him.

“Look, I don’t mean to take your nephew from you,” Sherlock began. “Mary and John did list me as next legal guardian.”

Harry sighed. “We got off on the wrong foot. Listen, I love Alex a lot, and like John and Mary…I want what’s best for him. If they thought that was you…so be it. Just wish my brother trusted me enough…but I know why he didn’t. Honestly, not sure I want a kid hanging around anyways. Not sure my new girlfriend would appreciate it… you’ll let me visit him though?’

“Of course,” Sherlock said. “I would never suggest keeping him from his relative. I swear if I had any thought of John wanting him with you I would gladly have surrendered my own rights to him…I…” he sighed, “I really don’t know much about raising kids.”

Harry chuckled at that. “Eh, neither do I. But you’re probably doing just fine. Last time I was over for dinner Alex wouldn’t stop talking about you.” She opened the trunk of her car and Sherlock reached in to scoop up a box.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yep. I think you’re his hero,” Harry said. “Don’t know what you did, but that kid adores you. And hey, that counts for something right?”

Sherlock was silent as he helped carry the boxes back towards 221 B. _You’re his hero_. To hold such an important role for a child he couldn’t even remember to feed, Sherlock wondered how long that would last. Alex would realize soon he wasn’t a hero…he wasn’t even close. Sherlock just had to hope the boy wouldn’t be too disappointed by that realization.

“Hey,” Harry said as they reached the door. “Seriously, you’ll do great. Alex is a very loving little kid. He sees people’s problems, but he loves them anyways…bit like Johnny that way. He’s loyal to a fault that kid. And whatever you’ve done you’ve hooked him, and I swear there’s probably next-to-nothing you could do at this point to drive him away. You’ve only got to look into his eyes to see it.”

Sherlock followed her in through the door, not sure if he believed her or not. Alex greeted them in the entryway, bouncing up and down as Mrs. Hudson pointed out that he wanted to come help rearrange his room. Sherlock paid special attention to the boy’s eyes as they went upstairs. He smiled at Harry and chattered to her about his book and the blanket fort and the flat and Mrs. Hudson. But when he said the name “Sherlock” for the first time to her, the detective swore he saw a spark light in the child’s eyes. Perhaps Harry had a point. There was something there. Bright and warm, utterly human yet magical in the same right.

Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat as he tried to process this information. He wanted to deduce this, wanted to use logic to twist and warp it to fit his understanding of the world. But the undeniable fact of the matter was that Alex indeed looked at him differently.

He thought of holding that warm body in his arms in the fort reminiscent of his childhood and allowing those secret longings to come out of his mouth. He’d told Alex the cave was safe, it was a place he could be scared. Sherlock had never quite imagined it was he who’d end up feeling the largest amount of fear at the end of the day. If Alex had truly entrusted him with his heart…who was to say he wouldn’t break or crush the fragile thing? Sherlock knew nothing of the inner workings of children’s love… he’d only have to hope Harry’s interpretations were right, and that Alex would continue to love him no matter how much he continued to mess up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I might have written this a smidge fast so apologies for mistakes, but I wanted it up before I go to an HP marathon this evening (yep, I'll be busy with that). Please read and review! :D


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock has to figure out bedtime routines.

Harry helped Alex rearrange his room. Sherlock stood to the side watching her putting sheets with shark patterns on his bed and adding a few soft toys in amongst the pillows, setting up his books on the small shelf John had left behind years earlier. She helped him sort his clothes into various dresser drawers and stood dinosaurs on the desk. When she was done Alex climbed back into her arms and the two sat on his bed and talked a little. Sherlock left when she began explaining how John and Mary were in a better place. Wishful thinking wasn’t something he really wanted to encourage, but he decided an argument wasn’t the best way to end things.

Downstairs he waited with the television on, watching some boring program, or rather staring at the screen while processing through the little bits and pieces he’d learned throughout the day. Lestrade had texted back explaining he was too wrapped up in another important case at the moment, but that tomorrow they could go explore the boathouse options and see if those yielded any results.

As he was beginning to sort out plans for which one to visit first, Harry Watson appeared in the room again with Alex in her arms. She walked straight over to where he was sitting and suddenly plopped Alex into his lap.

“There you are. All yours,” she said with a chuckle.

“Aunt Harry was telling me she’ll come visit lots,” Alex said. “She says next time she’ll take me out and we’ll have ice cream.”

“Your Aunt Harry is allowed to visit you whenever she likes,” Sherlock said.

“Yay!” Alex said, beaming towards the other woman. However, his attention quickly shifted back to Sherlock. “My aunt’s really nice. You’ll like her.”

“Hmm…” Sherlock ignored the boy and grabbed his phone again to look at Lestrade’s confirming text.

“Well, I’d best be off, Alex. You be a good boy for Sherlock. And Sherlock, you take good care of him, you hear?”

“Of course I will,” Sherlock scoffed, glancing up as she walked towards the door. “I’d never let anything bad happen to Alex.”

Harry made a noise that he didn’t know how to interpret before disappearing off down the stairs. He heard her and Mrs. Hudson chatting again and looked down at Alex still in his lap.

“Do you like my aunt?” Alex asked with a grin.

“She’s tolerable I suppose. Not quite how I imagined her.”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “She’s really nice. Dad used to worry about her a lot. But she’s been doing a little better. Has a girlfriend now who’s also really nice.”

Sherlock gave a nod and scrutinized the boy, trying to remember when his bedtime supposedly was. Children had those sort of things, didn’t they? He was certain Mary had mentioned one during his time babysitting, though that usually hadn’t mattered because Alex had a habit of drifting off when he was too tired. But at the moment he appeared wide awake. Eyes wide, grin fixed in place, practically vibrating with energy. Sherlock sighed.

“Well, why don’t you go do whatever it is you do in the evening normally,” he muttered, pushing Alex off his lap.

“But Sherlock, I have to take a bath tonight,” Alex said.

“So?”

“So, I need you to help.”

Help? Sherlock stared at the child feeling utterly perplexed. He was fairly certain at five he would have insisted he was old enough to do things such as bathe by himself.

“Surely you’re old enough to know how to wash yourself,” Sherlock muttered.

“Mum always says I’m too little and she wants to make sure I don’t drown,” Alex said.

“Drown? How much water do you put in your bath?” Sherlock asked.

Alex scowled. “Fine, I’ll go do it myself. If I drown it’s your fault!” He stomped off towards the bathroom.

Sherlock shook his head and decided to put in a little violin playing to inspire further thought. He lifted the instrument off of the table, plucked a few strings to ensure it was in tune before settling it on his shoulder. His bow danced lightly across the strings and a soft melody flowed into the flat. He closed his eyes and let the music move him, stirring his thoughts into action. Music really did prove marvelous stimulation for the brain.

After an indeterminable amount of time Sherlock paused and looked up. Something wasn’t right. He glanced around the apartment and noticed the sound of running water, though it sounded different than other times he’d heard the bath running. Sherlock set his instrument aside and wandered down towards the bathroom door, only to find the floor wet, water dotted with foaming bubbles pooling around the door and out into the hallway.

“Alex!” Sherlock yelled. He knocked but there was no answer. He tried the knob and was thankful to find it unlocked.

Alex was leaning back in the bath with his eyes closed, piles of bubbles frothing around him and spilling over the edge of the tub. Thankfully the boy looked up when Sherlock entered, thankfully not dead or drowned or anything of the sort—though he will be when I’m through with him, Sherlock thought.

“Alex, what are you doing!” the detective snapped. “Turn off the water.”

The boy jumped but managed to push away some of the bubbles and reach for the tap. He turned it off and blinked up at Sherlock.

“Whoops. Sorry.”

“Whoops?!?” Sherlock stared at the floor covered over in water. “He wasn’t even sure how to begin cleaning this up.

“Sorry,” Alex repeated again, shrinking into the bath, hiding himself in the bubbles.

Sherlock sighed. “Apparently your mother is right and you do need supervision. Isn’t there a second drain that prevents the water from rising so high? How did you manage this?”

Alex pulled his feet away from the end of the tub, allowing a flannel to float up away from the drain it had been blocking. The sound of water flowing down the pipes could be heard. Sherlock glanced around the floor and grabbed for his towels, starting to mop up some of the excess.

“Do you want me to help?” Alex asked, moving as though to get out of the tub.

“No, you’ve done enough damage for one night,” Sherlock said. The water wasn’t as much as it had first appeared. He was finding it fairly simple to use the towel to mop it up and wring out excess in the sink. Alex pouted at him and went back to pushing a toy boat around in the water. Sherlock eyed it curiously.

“I’m playing pirate,” Alex said when he noticed the detective staring. “Aunt Harry grabbed my bath toys. So now I have those to make it more fun.”

“Just make sure you clean yourself too,” Sherlock said. “We don’t want to get in trouble because you appear to lack a good sense of hygiene.”

Alex giggled. “I will, Sherlock! But bath time can be fun too. Didn’t you play with pirate boats when you were little?”

Sherlock smiled. “I don’t really remember, but probably.”

He continued to clean up the bathroom and hall area as Alex played. Around the time he’d finished, Alex pulled the drain and started to let the water out. Sherlock turned his attention back to the boy, realizing as a parent he should probably make some quick checks.

“Did you wash behind your ears?”

Alex’s nose wrinkled. “Why do people ask that? That’s not where I get dirty!”

Unable to resist the detective scooped up the flannel and pushed it around the boy’s ear. Alex squirmed and laughed, trying to push Sherlock away as he jokingly scrubbed his ears.

“All clean?” Sherlock asked as he set the flannel aside. He didn’t notice any areas of Alex that seemed to have retained dirt, but still, it would be good to check.

“Yes,” Alex said, lifting his arms out. Sherlock helped him get up, making sure he didn’t slip on the slick surface of the tub as he stepped out. The detective grabbed for the dry towel and wrapped it around the boy’s slim shoulders.

“There, dry yourself off and put on your pyjamas. What do you normally do before you go to bed?”

“Watch a little telly,” Alex said with a shrug.

“Alright, then we’ll do that for a bit and get you to bed on time.”

Alex nodded and Sherlock left him in privacy, heading back towards the living room. He checked the time but thankfully still had more than an hour til Alex needed to be in bed. He had to wonder if this time-schedule thing was going to be an issue. His own schedule was abnormal, conformed to his whims and current activities. Alex was a child, and he therefore needed normalcy. Maybe he can set up alerts on his phone to tell him all those silly things he’ll have to remember. Breakfast, school pickups and drop-offs, lunch on weekends, dinner, bath time, bedtime… he shuddered at the mere thought of trying to remember all that. Perhaps he really wasn’t cut out for this? If they noticed he was forgetting to feed Alex, or bathe him, or put him to bed on time at the checkups, he was bound to lose his guardianship.

Sherlock groaned and sank back in his chair. Just in time Alex appeared in the doorway dressed in a pair of green striped pyjamas. He padded over to where Sherlock was sitting and looked at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Can I sit with you?”

Sherlock barely managed to restrain a groan, but thankfully left it to an eye roll before opening his arms and allowing Alex to clamber back into his lap. He grabbed for the remote and flicked the television on, settling on a children’s movie that Alex didn’t complain about.

He had a difficult time restraining himself from completely ruining the plot for Alex. Even so, he did mutter little speculations about the obvious details the movie makers hadn’t thought about most of which caused Alex to dissolve into fits of giggles. Sherlock managed a smile every time he got the boy to laugh, and soon this became his main motivation in commenting rather than actually pointing out problematic plot points.

“You’re funny,” Alex whispered at one point, burrowing a bit closer and moving his thump up towards his mouth. Sherlock frowned and tugged it away, wrapping his other arm a bit tighter.

“I suppose. But while I am funny, it is unfortunately your bedtime. So,” Sherlock set him down, “run along and get some sleep.”

Alex stared at him from where he was now standing. His eyebrows were furrowed.

“You’re not going to tuck me in?”

“Oh, that’s one of those silly parent things isn’t it,” Sherlock said exhaling loudly. “Fine. Not always, mind you. But tonight since it’s your first night here.”

“‘Kay,” Alex agreed.

The boy dashed off towards the stairs. Sherlock groaned and stood as well, flicking off the television before following Alex up to John’s old bedroom. When Sherlock arrived at the room itself, there was a brief moment where he had to push sudden nostalgia away, half-expecting to see John’s things, his laptop on the bed, his clothes on the floor, him hunched over a desk. Instead there was Alex bouncing up and down in the bed, boyish clothes hanging in the wardrobe, dinosaur toys and children’s books on the various surfaces. Sherlock’s jaw clenched as he walked closer.

Besides thinking of his old flatmate, there was the issue of knowing the ritual of “tucking in” a child. Had his parents done this to him? He couldn’t remember. Sherlock wondered if there was actual tucking involved or if one simply said some kind of goodnight or… he tried to imagine if John was here. He could practically see his old friend, sitting at Alex’s bedside, kissing the boy’s forehead and bidding him goodnight.

“Well, all settled then?” Sherlock said, clearing his throat. “Do you need anything else before you go to sleep? Water? Er…”

“No,” Alex said. “Can you check for monsters though?”

Sherlock’s brow arched. “What?”

“Monsters. Make sure there are no monsters under the bed. And shut the wardrobe so they can’t get out if they’re in that.”

Sherlock blinked a few times, trying to process the words. “Monsters? There’s no such thing.”

Alex stared at him. The boy’s expression couldn’t be more puzzled. Before Sherlock could criticize him, however, the boy explained, “but…you fight monsters all the time. Dad said… he called Moriarty a monster.”

“Ah, well those are a different sort, and they don’t lurk under children’s beds.”

Alex’s eyes welled up with tears suddenly, and Sherlock was on his hands and knees without another word, deciding anything was better than having to deal with crying again.

“Nothing under here,” he muttered before going over to check the wardrobe and shut the door as well. “Sleep well, Alex. You know where both Mrs. Hudson and I are, correct?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “But Sherlock—can you read me a bedtime story first, please?”

In order to avoid more tears Sherlock did comply, trying to bite back comments that were easily available to him. Why did parents put up with this sort of pointless thing? He picked up one of the boy’s books and sat on the edge of the bed looking down at it.

“Franky the Frog Goes to School,” he said, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice, each word filled with a sense of disgust. “I’m not reading you this rubbish.”

“Please, Sherlock. I don’t sleep well without a bedtime story. Mum always reads me one.”

He sighed and debated the issue in his own mind. Was having to suffer more rubbish really worth it? Where should he draw the line? Alex couldn’t have everything he wanted. That was called spoiling and it wasn’t not good. John had gotten onto him about that last time he babysat. Hmm…but at the same time he didn’t want to deal with crying. Not now. But this idiotic story would bore the life out of him. No, he wouldn’t allow Alex to read something like this even if he’s five… And then it hit him and Sherlock straightened with a smile.

“I’ll be back momentarily.”

He dashed towards the stairs, heading back to the flat and scrambling through until he found his laptop. After clutching that tightly he made a run back up the stairs, appearing back in Alex’s bedroom to find the boy looking at him expectantly.

“Just wait a minute and I’ll have your story.” Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed and opened the computer, doing a quick search and finding what he was thinking of without too many problems. He cleared his throat before reading, “A Study in Pink…”

“What’s that? Why can’t we read my books?” Alex said, pouting.

“Because the stories your father wrote are far more interesting than any mass-produced children’s book about a frog going to school,” Sherlock said.

Alex sat up straighter, eyes going wide. “My dad wrote this story?”

“Yes. Now be quiet and I’ll read it to you.” He cleared his throat before launching in, wondering if anything John had written should be censored from a five year old. The murder wasn’t particularly gory so he decided to go all in, reading calmly through the tale of his first adventure with John Watson at his side.

By the time he’d finished reading through the blog post, Alex’s eyes were fluttering and it was obvious he would drift off any moment. Much relieved, Sherlock snapped the computer closed and stood up to go to the door. He stopped when a voice addressed him once more.

“Sherlock.”

“Yes, Alex?” he said with a sigh.

“Thank you. G’dnight,” he said with a yawn.

Sherlock gave a faint smile and turned off the light before shutting the door softly. Well, day one of parenting was finished, his ward still in good condition, not injured or dead or starving, but fed and bathed and tucked in bed right on time. The detective sighed as he headed back downstairs to work more on the case. He just had to hope it’d be easier from here on out.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock investigates potential crime scenes, drags Alex into danger, and discovers what he should have expected all along.

Sherlock’s first morning as a guardian was surprisingly uneventful. Alex came bounding into the living room fairly early, but the detective himself was already up and to work, having had very little sleep the night before. He greeted the boy before going to make some toast with the bread Mrs. Hudson had brought him. He’d probably have to go shopping sometime soon, but for the moment there were more important things to do.

As Alex ate, Sherlock busied himself with getting ready for the outing with Lestrade. The text he’d received this morning said they were busy dealing with a recent murder case, but that Sherlock could meet him at the crime scene and they could head off to investigate the rest together. The only issue was that Sherlock had just taken into account the fact that he probably shouldn’t leave a five year old alone for half the day.

Considering, Sherlock walked over to the doorway and yelled for Mrs. Hudson down the stairs. She appeared in under three minutes, flour all over her apron and a bit in her hair as well. Alex giggled even as she shot the both of them a miffed look.

“I’m not your housekeeper, Sherlock. What is it?”

“Can you watch Alex for the day?”

“I’m not your sitter either,” Mrs. Hudson chided. “Any other day I’d be glad to watch the dear, but Mrs. Turner and I are getting together for lunch with a few other friends of ours and I’m busy cooking up a storm. He’d be so bored sitting around watching me at the stove, and I think the ladies would prefer we didn’t have a child hearing all our silly gossip. No, it just wouldn’t do.”

Sherlock frowned and glanced back at the boy. He hadn’t really considered the subject of a sitter yet, considering he’d often done that job himself ever since John had trusted him enough the first time.

After Mrs. Hudson had scuttled back down to her apartment, he pulled out his phone and made a quick call.

“Oh, hello?” Molly’s sweet voice came through the other end of the line. “What’s the matter, Sherlock?”

“I am in need of assistance, Molly. Are you available to help me this morning?”

“If you need something done you could drop by the hospital. I have a little bit of free space in between some of my jobs, so I could look at something for you if you can just drop it by.”

“No, no, no. I need someone to watch Alex while I’m out on a case,” he snapped.

“Oh. Well, I’m afraid I can’t just skip work. Sorry. I really am. Is there anyone else you could ask?”

Sherlock grumbled into the phone and ended the call without another word. He glanced back at Alex who was still giggling.

“You’re stuck with me then,” Alex said before stuffing another piece of toast into his mouth. Sherlock sighed and looked away, brows furrowing as he considered any alternatives. Molly was right, there was no one else. He only had three friends after all…three left that was…

Sherlock stopped at that, unable to think about the ending of John and Mary anymore. No, he needed to focus. His attention returned to the still chewing boy.

“Then you’re coming with me,” Sherlock said.

“Cool,” Alex brightened at the thought. He stuffed one last bite of toast into his mouth, muttered, “done,” and then ran off towards the stairs to go put on his clothes.

Sherlock sighed and grabbed the plate the boy had left, tossing it into the sink before going to find his coat. He slid into the old familiar garment, turning the collar up. He called a cab and sank into his chair, awaiting his ward’s return.

The sound of footsteps echoing down the stairs alerted him to the fact that Alex was already dressed. The boy appeared in the doorway with shoes and a coat on as well, thoroughly ready.

“Grab your knapsack too and bring a book. In case you get bored.”

Alex nodded and reached for the things he’d had in the fort yesterday. He slid a few books into his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and smiling at Sherlock.

“Ready,” he said.

They headed to the door, going down the stairs past Mrs. Hudson’s place where they could hear her humming as she worked. Sherlock rolled his eyes as they headed out the front door onto Baker Street, finding the cab already awaiting them.

Alex bounced with anticipation for most of the ride, looking out the windows and chattering to Sherlock about how exciting it was. Sherlock did his best to keep his sarcastic responses to a minimum, mostly a little relieved to not have to go about business alone. He’d worried about John’s absence, how that would affect him. While John hadn’t been as active once involved in married life, his presence had still been a part of some of his major cases, and Sherlock had always valued that. Now at least he still had someone to bring along. Though the vibrating child next to him certainly wasn’t quite the same.

Lestrade stared at him when they pulled up and exited the cab. Sherlock paid the cabbie before following Alex over to the crime scene tape.

“You’d better bloody well be joking,” Lestrade said, staring perplexedly at Alex. “Why have you got a kid with you?”

“This is Alex,” Sherlock said. “He’s joining me today.”

Lestrade’s jaw dropped. “Bloody hell that’s Alex Watson. Seriously, what’s he doing here?”

“He’s with me,” Sherlock said. “I couldn’t find a sitter. So he’ll be tagging along.”

“With you? Cor, what are you on about?” Lestrade demanded.

“I’m in the process of becoming his legal guardian,” Sherlock said.

Sally Donovan looked up from where she’d been leaning over the body. “What? They’re letting freaks like you around kids? That boy’s going to be a piece of work, let me tell you.”

“If I wanted your opinion I’d ask for it,” Sherlock snapped. “And if you were a better detective you’d already have realized this is a drug overdose not a murder, but clearly you’re too blind to see the signs.”

Lestrade stared a moment longer and shook his head. “I don’t even want to know. Now, about the kid, he can’t come, Sherlock.”

“Why not?” the consulting detective asked, tilting his head.

“Because, he’s a kid! Christ, Sherlock, we’re investigating the murder of his parents for crying out loud.”

“He’ll be fine,” Sherlock said dismissively.

Alex was busy staring at the dead body, his mouth open and his eyes sparkling. “Woah. Is he really dead?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed. “He doesn’t mind these things, Lestrade. And it’s not as though we’re going to go find the bodies, are we?”

“I still think this is messed up,” Lestrade muttered, even as he walked towards his car. “Finish up here Donovan and write up a report, would you? I’ll be back in a few hours. Sherlock is tagging along for a check up on a lead for the Watson case.”

Donovan rolled her eyes but apparently decided to just go along with Lestrade’s orders. Sherlock grabbed Alex’s arm and lead him towards the car.

“So, where to first?” Lestrade asked, once seated at the wheel. “You mentioned that place a few blocks down…”

“No, I’d start with closer proximity to where the bodies were found rather than where the Watsons were taken from,” Sherlock said. “Start with the furthest away and we’ll work our way back in if there are no leads there. I’d say we have a safe bet with it though. It has everything Moriarty would have needed.”

“Hmm, alright, whatever you say,” Lestrade said, starting the engine and setting off. He glanced in the mirror to look at Alex for a moment. “How are you doing, Alex? You holding up alright?”

“I’m fine,” Alex said with a smile. “I mean…it’s been sad…but I think it’s going to be ok. Sherlock will find the bad people who did this.”

“I gotta agree with that,” Lestrade said. “Or at least hope. I mean this is Moriarty we’re talking about. This guy’s a real bastard. And he’s gotten away far too many times already.”

“We’ll find him this time,” Sherlock said.

“Well, whatever you say. You seriously adopting Alex though?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said.

“Why? You don’t strike me as the kid type. Seems a bit odd if you ask me.”

“I—John wanted me to. There were no other good options anyhow. And Alex likes me rather well, and I don’t mind him all that much. It’s a suitable arrangement.”

“Adopting a kid should be more than suitable,” Lestrade muttered, glancing in the mirror again. “It’s lots of work it is. Gotta love it.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Sherlock said, looking out the window and considering every detail he could about this potential route. Perhaps he’d considered poorly. Perhaps Moriarty would be more likely to choose the location closest to the Watson residence.

“What about you, Alex? You liking living with Sherlock?”

“He’s really nice,” Alex piped in.

“Nice?” Lestrade chuckled.

“Yeah, he read me a story from my dad last night about this pink lady and this guy who killed people with medicines. It was really interesting. And he made me a fort too and he didn’t get too mad at me when I flooded the bath. Plus he’s really smart and stuff.”

“Is that right?” Lestrade asked, shooting Sherlock a look of amusement. The consulting detective rolled his eyes.

“Yep,” Alex said.

Lestrade launched into asking Alex some questions about school and such. The boy answered easily, the two falling into casual conversation without too many problems. Sherlock was relieved when the boathouse was in view.

“Thank heavens,” Sherlock muttered under his breath as he unbuckled. As soon as the car had stopped moving he was stepping out, striding towards the building with little hesitation.

“Is the kid joining us?” Lestrade asked.

“Hey! You can’t leave me,” Alex protested. He dashed off after the detective, leaving Lestrade shaking his head and muttering under his breath. Together the two men and the boy made their way closer to the abandoned boathouse.

Sherlock was absorbing every detail he could. Tire tracks. Fairly fresh. Someone had been here. Large tread. He glanced towards the door and noticed the lock had been broken. There were signs of a struggle in the gravel, where people had obviously been forced inside. There was no doubt in his mind this was the place.

Lestrade pulled out his torch as they opened the door. Sherlock stepped inside, still trying to absorb as many details as he could about what had happened. There had been three other men besides Moriarty from his guess. He noted two types of cigarettes, scattered on different parts of the floor, but also a set of footprints nowhere near those that were far too large to be either Moriarty’s or John’s. There were ropes still tied to two wooden supports, obviously where the Watsons had been held.

Any other clues here? Not much if anything. Lestrade was calling in a forensic unit to come sweep the place, but Sherlock had a feeling that would do little good. Moriarty had left whatever he’d wanted to, he obviously wasn’t worried about being caught due to a little bit of DNA lying about or fingerprints or anything else. Even so, he remained silent since Alex had become excited at the mention of forensics.

Sherlock wondered for the first time if a trip out here had been pointless. Perhaps he should have realized Moriarty wasn’t a fool and that this trip would be a waste of time, instead only a reminder of the loss of his two friends. Perhaps—

His thoughts were cut off by a shout from Alex. Sherlock spun to find the boy staring at something along the far wall. Both he and Lestrade headed over.

“Those are mine,” Alex whispered, pointing to the toys.

Sherlock stared at the scene in mild disgust, two small blond plastic figures were blackened with burning, only their heads left visible, though someone had drawn xs across their eyes. A third blond figure, a little boy was hanging over a fake candle. Someone had drawn his face as a frown. As Sherlock had suspected, Moriarty was intending to harm Alex as well. There was blood splattered all of them, and to the side Sherlock could see the body of a cat. He had to guess it was probably the neighbor’s one of which Alex was so fond.

Sherlock reached instinctively for his ward, drawing Alex closer to him and running a hand through his hair. The boy had begun to cry softly, though he was obviously trying to hide it. Lestrade spat out a few choice curses.

“What’s the point of this?” Lestrade demanded. “What the hell does this do other than show he’s a sick bastard?”

Sherlock glanced for answers, until his eyes settled under the small candle and he realized it was sitting on something. He moved the item to the side to reveal a small mobile phone. It was identical to John’s though it clearly wasn’t his.

“He’s taunting us,” Sherlock said with a sigh, opening the phone to reveal a background photo of Alex’s face. “He wants to show off…as always.”

“Well, he’s proved that much,” Lestrade said. “Well, our forensic unit will sweep this place for what they can. In the meantime, what’s next? We just wait for him to call?”

“Keep an eye on his associate movements, continue to watch for patterns, and yes, we will wait for him to make contact,” Sherlock sighed. “Like all good showoffs, eventually he’ll overdo himself. And we will catch him.”

“Yeah he’d better,” Lestrade muttered. “Speaking of which, do you hear something?”

Sherlock’s head shot up and he looked around, Lestrade was right there was an unusual noise but he wasn’t sure what it was. Sniffing the air Sherlock became more sure of what it had to be.

“Gas leak. Run.”

Grabbing for Alex’s arm, Sherlock darted off towards the entrance. Whatever Moriarty had rigged, he was all too certain this wasn’t going to be good. With Lestrade right behind him, the consulting detective shot out the door, just in time to hear an echoing boom and feel the scorching heat of the fire going off behind them. Sherlock’s hand on Alex’s arm tightened as he threw himself forward, bringing the boy down with him to the ground as the building was set into blazing flame. Lestrade gasped and cursed, but Sherlock didn’t dare look up to see.

After a long minute hearing the biggest damage taking place, Sherlock determined it safe to raise his head again. The fire was still burning, he could feel the heat against his back, but the danger of possible further explosions had likely passed.

Sherlock pulled Alex to his feet, inspecting the boy for any damage. Alex was quivering a bit, but otherwise seemed unharmed. After just a moment of standing there he leaned over and vomited up his toast. Sherlock grimaced but said nothing. Lestrade rose to his feet as well, cursing as he brushed at a charred portion of his shirt, though he didn’t appear to be burned at all either.

“That evil sadistic bastard,” Lestrade said. “Bloody hell when I get my hands on him…”

“Oh do calm down, we’re all alive and well.”

Lestrade looked at Alex who’d gone a shade paler. “Sherlock, you’re never bringing him to a crime scene again, you hear me? Shite the kid could have been killed!”

“He’s fine,” Sherlock said, peering at the boy with his eyebrows furrowed. “Honestly, Lestrade, he doesn’t have a scratch on him.”

“Eh, well I still’m not going to be responsible if he dies or is injured or anything else for that matter. John’d probably come back from the grave and murder me himself,” Lestrade said. “Alright, well, that takes care of forensics. Bloody hell this really is going to be a mess, isn’t it?”

“It looks as though it will be,” Sherlock agreed. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the replica of John’s phone. He had a text.

_Hope you liked my pyrotechnic display. All for you love. Don’t worry this is just the first act. <3 Jim_

“That him?” Lestrade asked as he opened the car door.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, closing the text and sticking the phone away.

“What’s he saying now?”

“That this is only the beginning,” Sherlock murmured, opening his own door and ushering the still shell-shocked Alex inside. He should have expected this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know nothing about explosions (probably evident) or police regulations (but Lestrade doesn't strike me as caring too much about those all the time anyways). So yes, don't get annoyed if I messed something up. It's fiction after all. Regardless, feel free to comment if you have suggestions. Until next time! -elsarenard


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moriarty makes an appearance, and Sherlock makes a risky decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter- Moriarty is definitely really creepy… if pedophilic insinuations bother you then I’d leave now.

Three weeks passed. Moriarty laid low. Only one other text came in, merely a winky face emoticon followed by a pair of lips. Sherlock bore the taunting in silence but couldn’t help but turn his frustration into frantically working the case. He had to find Moriarty. He had to destroy him once and for all.

In the meantime, he’d merely tried to settle into something of a routine with Alex. The boy had started attending school again, having taken a few days rest due to the trauma of all that had happened. But now Sherlock was used to dropping him off and Mrs. Hudson yelling at him when it was time to go pick him up. He tried his best to have some form of sustenance available at all times, did end up setting an alarm on his mobile to remind him for some of those important mealtimes and bedtime of course. Alex seemed to be settling into it just fine. Which was why the noises confused him…

Sherlock had been sitting and working on a new case (he needed something to keep his boredom at bay while waiting for further information on Moriarty) when he heard noises coming from the upstairs bedroom. He cocked his head and listened, thoroughly confused.

Children were stubborn about bedtimes. Or at least he had been. Alex on the other hand perplexed him in regularly being willing to go to bed at a set time. The boy became drowsy shortly after eight and usually would nod off on his own if Sherlock didn’t put him to bed. So at one in the morning, noises were a peculiarity, one Sherlock had to go investigate.

Nightmares perhaps? Sherlock pondered the possibilities as he walked up the steps, pausing at the door and listening more closely. Alex’s voice rang out, sharp and cracking as he pleaded. There was rustling on the bed. Not even pausing, Sherlock opened the door.

“Sherlock!” Alex gasped.

Even in the dim room, Sherlock could make out Moriarty’s form hunched beside the boy on the bed. The man had one hand on the boy’s arm, the other on a glittering knife that rested just a few centimeters away from Alex’s throat.

“Let him go,” Sherlock snapped, breathing slowly to make sure he kept control. A spike in adrenaline had his heart racing, but he needed to stay calm. He wasn’t going to let Moriarty finish this job.

“But he’s such a darling little thing,” Moriarty crooned, giving a grin as his hand tightened on Alex. “Look at him, I could just eat him up.” He leaned in and gave an audible inhale next to Alex’s hair, eyes rolling in a mimicry of pleasure.

“Your quarrel is with me,” Sherlock pointed out, eyeing the knife and pondering if there was anyway he could grab Alex without risking danger to the both of them. As if sensing his thoughts, Moriarty let the blade slip just a little closer.

“Oh don’t be so boring, Sherlock. Wouldn’t want to have a little accident with this now would we? Cut this pretty little throat?” Moriarty chuckled and leaned down to plant a soft kiss along the side of Alex’s neck. The boy trembled and let out a whimper.

“You want me, you’ve got me,” Sherlock pointed out. “Let him go.”

“But what if I don’t want you, Sherlock, darling? Haven’t you considered that.” Moriarty smirked and glanced at Alex, smiling as he admired the shivering that had started. “Mmm, there’s a pretty pet. Do be calm. Daddy’s just talking a bit. He can return all his attention to you as soon as Uncle Sherly leaves us be.”

“That’s not going to happen, and you know it.”

“Oh, don’t like me playing with your little doggy, Sherl? Don’t want me touching him?” Moriarty released Alex’s arm, though he kept the knife in place. Sherlock watched as the hand drifted down to the boy’s pajama clad thigh, stroking along it and then up, pushing up the boy’s shirt a bit to touch bare skin.

“Stop it,” Sherlock snapped. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just leave him be.”

“Ooh, he wants me to leave you be,” Moriarty purred into Alex’s ear. “Is that what you want, pet? Want daddy to stop?”

“Yes,” Alex whispered pleadingly.

“Say yes, daddy.”

Alex swallowed and looked at Sherlock. The detective nodded. The words were disgusting, but if Moriarty would hold true to his word then a little discomfort would be worth it.

“Yes, daddy,” Alex whispered.

“Good boy. Learning so well. Give us a kiss and then we’ll let you be.”

Alex hesitated, glancing towards Sherlock again, face twisted up in a mix of confusion and disgust and fear. Moriarty grinned sickeningly as the boy turned his head slightly. The villain leaned in and pressed a full kiss to the boy’s mouth, lingering there longer than Sherlock had initially expected.

Thankfully, the moment Moriarty pulled his mouth away he withdrew the blade too, allowing Alex to scramble off the bed and fly into Sherlock’s arms. The detective scooped him up without another word, squeezing him tightly.

“Sherlock,” Alex whimpered against his shoulder.

The detective made a shushing noise and ruffled his hair soothingly before looking back towards the still grinning villain.

“Just testing him, Sherlock. Wanted to make sure I’d given you a suitable replacement.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the detective snapped.

“Oh Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock,” Moriarty laughed. “Don’t you think there was a reason I let the little kitten live? Thought you’d need a replacement since you lost old Johnny boy. Who better than his little brat. Hmm? One you can even train yourself…mold to your liking. So kind of me wasn’t it.”

Alex made a muffled noise against his shoulder. Moriarty leered.

“Ah, don’t fret darling. I’ll be back for you in a few years. We’ll let Sherlock enjoy you for a while. Let him housetrain you.”

Sherlock bristled and placed a hand on Alex’s head. Why hadn’t he brought a gun up with him?

“What do you want, Moriarty?”

“Merely saying hello, checking in…isn’t that how this whole guardianship thing works? You have…checkups.” He grinned, eyes twinkling with some darker purpose that Sherlock couldn’t yet identify. “And I’ve missed you, Sherlock. It’s been so booooring facing all these other nooormal people. They’re not quite like you, are they?” He glanced at Sherlock’s hand, still firmly on Alex’s head, soothing as best he could as the boy gave soft shaking sobs.

“I suggest you leave us be,” Sherlock snapped.

“Hmm, we’ll see. We’ll see, Sherlock. I’ll be back later, don’t you worry about it. Give your pet an extra kiss for me. Daddy will be back later to collect him,” Jim chuckled and blew a light kiss before going to the window. Sherlock turned with Alex in his arms, knowing already Jim was on his way out, probably by the time he found his gun the villain would be long gone.

He went downstairs and set Alex on the couch, kneeling in front of him and quickly doing an inspection for any damage. The boy was upset, clearly, but not harmed. Sherlock sighed in relief, sinking back on his heels as he looked over the crying child.

“It’s going to be alright,” he murmured. “Shush. He won’t touch you again.”

“C-c-can I sleep in your room tonight,” Alex said, reaching out his arms again and letting Sherlock pull him into a tight embrace.

“I think that might be best,” the detective agreed, picking up his charge and walking back to the bedroom. He settled Alex on the bed and slid in beside him, not bothering to take off his clothes. He reached a hand towards the drawer on his bedside table, opening it to look in at the small gun still nestled inside.

Alex snuggled in close to him, and Sherlock closed the drawer again, moving to wrap his arms around his ward. Alex’s breathing eased some, obviously drifting off to sleep. Much relieved, Sherlock sighed and settled for staring at the wall, reconsidering everything Jim had said. Perhaps Mycroft had a point. Maybe Alex was in more danger here.

But even if that was the case, Sherlock couldn’t deny there was something nice about this boy here…another person to take care of, to hold, to laugh with, to tell stories to, or go for a walk with. Alex was there for him. He needed Alex. Perhaps it was selfish. But even in a few weeks he’d grown somewhat used to the normalcy of someone in his life. He’d lost that once, and no matter what Moriarty said he wasn’t going to lose it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read and review! My latest fic has overtaken this one in terms of follows, so if I don't have reader support I'm likely to put this one lower on my priority list for a while (and that's not fair to any of you who are actually following, but that's just how it goes).


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock has a few checkups, and figures out the crucial detail he's been missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to reviewers who gave me feedback on the last few chapters! I really want to continue this project and it’s great to have support in doing so. No real warnings for this chapter other than being a bit longer than normal. Enjoy!

Moriarty went off the grid. Sherlock tried helplessly to search for him, but he couldn’t seem to find any indication of the villain’s whereabouts. His activity had gone fairly quiet once more. This seemed to be Moriarty’s new game. Staying hidden for long intervals only to pop in and surprise them again. He was right—it wasn’t unlike Sherlock’s checkups.

They had their first one early one Saturday morning. Some bespectacled woman with a clipboard came through, marking things off as she walked around the flat, asking questions to Sherlock about meals and schedule and those sort of things. She asked Alex a few questions too, but he handled those well, smiling at the woman and using good manners. Sherlock did his best to keep his retorts to a minimum, though it was difficult.

“So sorry you’re compensating for a loveless marriage by working yourself so hard,” slipped out at one point, though thankfully it was mumbled to such an extent that he was able to rethink it by the time she asked for him to repeat what he’d said.

Thankfully, all major disasters were averted. He managed to snatch his small jar of human tongues up off the counter and hide it out of sight before she entered the kitchen. And Mrs. Hudson eased his impatience some when she brought up tea and cake.

With the inspection passed, Sherlock allowed himself to relax some. If he kept up his hard work it was obvious his guardianship wasn’t going to be contested.

Of course, Mycroft’s own inspection was another thing. Him showing up one day, asking to come in.

“What do you want?” Sherlock snapped.

“Just coming to see how parenthood is suiting you,” Mycroft said.

“I would have thought you could check in with that appalling woman who was here a week ago,” Sherlock muttered.

“Oh I have, but I know she wouldn’t be quite as thorough as I will be,” Mycroft said, glancing about, eyes lingering on the dinosaur toys on the floor, the crayon drawing on the fridge. “This is a change. I never thought I’d see something like this. You do know mummy won’t stop pestering me about when you’ll let her meet Alexander.”

Sherlock said nothing. It made sense his parents would want to meet the boy, of course, but that didn’t change the fact he’d much rather avoid contact with them entirely. Though, with Alex there to distract them, it might be a little more bearable.

“I see you’ve missed a few things though,” Mycroft said. “I’d avoid leaving those knives in this room, even in a drawer if I were you, Sherlock. And your nicotine patches really should be kept in a better place as well. For goodness sake, you do realize that shoving things under the sofa does not count as cleaning. And you really ought to get a safe for your gun.”

“Not when Moriarty’s barging in here unannounced,” Sherlock muttered.

“Yes, you mentioned that in your text. I’m afraid our efforts to track him have continued to be fruitless,” Mycroft sighed.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then Alex appeared in the living room. He was holding a piece of paper over a glass.

“Sherlock, I caught a spider again. Can you show me a new way to kill it?”

Mycroft glowered at Sherlock before turning to glance over the boy, probably making his deductions. Sherlock made his own to see if there were any that might be troubling. Alex was barefoot, wearing a blue t-shirt and jeans; dust was smudged on both from where he’d probably crawled under something to find the arachnid. Tousled unbrushed hair… Mycroft might not like that, but there was a slight speckling of toothpaste under his chin that showed he’d at least cleaned his teeth earlier that morning, and a smudge of jelly on his shirt collar that showed he’d eaten.

“Trying to instill psychopathic behavior in him, Sherlock?” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Really, don’t you have better things to do?”

Alex’s brow furrowed much as John’s might have done in the same circumstance. “Sorry, what?”

Mycroft ignored him. “I suggest you avoid such habits in the future. I highly doubt the social worker will approve if she finds out. Also, I’d suggest trying to add some balance to his next meal—and no Sherlock, ice cream does not count as a meal. And if I were you I’d pay a little more attention. Honestly, brother, your observation skills could really be improved.”

He walked back towards the door. Sherlock stared at a spot on the wall, waiting until he heard the footsteps descend all the way down to turn back towards Alex. The boy was frowning as he looked at the glass.

“Maybe I’ll just let it go,” Alex whispered. He walked over to the window, and Sherlock heard him open it to allow the spider out.

Sherlock rose to his feet. “Let’s go out.”

“Where?” Alex asked.

“Just out,” Sherlock muttered. “On a walk. For food. For whatever, just out of here.”

Alex shrugged but went back to find his shoes and coat. Sherlock pulled on his own, turning up the collar as he glowered, thinking on what his brother had said. He was doing just fine with Alex. Psychopathic tendencies indeed. Killing the spiders was an experiment. They were quick spawning arthropods, not cat or dogs or something of the like. It was merely an amusing activity Alex seemed to enjoy. He’d showed no other signs of even being a sociopath like Sherlock was. He was a sweet and loving boy; he did well in school and made friends with few problems. And what on earth could Mycroft mean about his observation skills?

When the boy came charging back down the steps, Sherlock tried another deducing glance. He’d been painting earlier today, clearly. He had been in a fight at school two days ago…but they’d had a talk about that at the time. There had been another small growth spurt in the last month, evidenced by his slightly too short coat sleeves. He’d snuck a few sweets earlier, but that again didn’t concern Sherlock very much. What was he missing? Perhaps Mycroft has simply been taunting him.

They headed off down the stairs. Alex poked his head in Mrs. Hudson’s door and told her they were going out, asking her how she was doing before bidding her a good morning. When the boy was finally done being social, they headed off down the street, pausing only a few blocks away when they reached a small café.

“Hungry?”

Alex nodded eagerly and dashed in without giving Sherlock another chance to reconsider. The detective sighed before following after him.

They sat at the table. Alex beamed at the waiter and ordered the same thing he always did. Sherlock snorted and asked for a drink instead, deciding he wasn’t particularly hungry. The waiter chuckled at Alex’s enthusiasm.

“And how old are you, young man?” he asked.

“Six,” Alex said with a grin.

“Ah, a fine age! Well, will that be everything, sir?”

Sherlock nodded, only to sit up straighter, glancing at Alex with eyebrows furrowed.

“Hold on a moment, you’re…six?”

“Yep,” Alex said with a shrug, staring down at the table and tracing his finger over a crack in the surface. Sherlock stared at him a moment longer, trying to process.

“You…you had a birthday,” he stated.

“Yes,” Alex agreed. “It’s March thirteenth.”

That was more than a week ago. Sherlock blinked a few times.

“Your birthday passed and you said…nothing?”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Alex said with a shrug. “I…I made you build me a blanket fort again. And I made you go get ice cream for dinner. That was enough for me. I thought…I thought if we actually celebrated it’d just make me think of mum and dad.”

Sherlock wondered at how he’d come so far as to not feel panicked on sight of tears in those blue eyes.

“Well, is there anything else you’d like to do,” Sherlock asked, willing back the lump in his throat at the thought of having to throw a party or something of the like.

Alex brightened some. “You mean it? Well…there is one thing.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

 _Please don’t let him say party, please don’t let him say party_ Sherlock clamped his teeth down hard in an effort to keep the words from escaping his mouth. Perhaps he shouldn’t have made such an offer. Oh this was foolish. Six year olds running about the flat in celebration—he could picture it already.

“I want to come with you to another crime scene,” Alex said.

Sherlock’s breath spewed out in relief. However, as he finally began to think about what Alex had just said, he realized it wasn’t altogether better.

“I’m not allowed. Lestrade would have my head.”

Alex let out a giggle and grinned. “Please, Sherlock. Why not?”

“Because of those silly rule things,” Sherlock sighed. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” Alex said. He shrugged and looked at the table, though thankfully the waiter came back with his food just in time to distract him.

Sherlock sipped at his drink and considered.

Later that day he made a call to Molly Hooper. She answered excitedly, her tone causing Sherlock to roll his eyes. Obviously the latest boyfriend hadn’t quite panned out.

“I need your help,” he said. “Alex wants to go to a crime scene for his birthday, but Lestrade won’t let me bring him anymore. I was thinking the morgue might be the next best thing. Would you allow him there?”

“Are you joking? Sherlock, he’s only five!”

“Six,” Sherlock said. “I missed his birthday…hence why I’m trying to make up for it and take him somewhere special.”

“Oh golly. Hmm…I think I can help. But you’ll have to do exactly as I say.”

“Fine,” Sherlock muttered, though he wasn’t sure if he entirely approved. Nonetheless, he agreed to have her over the next weekend. She hung up saying she had lots to do, not comforting him one bit.

A week later Molly arrived dressed in her lab coat and asked him to come help her carry things from the cab. Sherlock was a bit surprised but agreed, sending Alex down to Mrs. Hudson’s for a bit while he helped Molly grab numerous bags and boxes, coming back up to the flat with an armload of various things.

As soon as they had managed to unload everything, Molly shooed him away and set to work. Sherlock had never seen her more frantic, rushing to set everything right. Unsure how to even begin to help, Sherlock managed to get out of her way, watching and attempting deductions on what she could possibly be planning.

There was a knock on the door. Molly turned a pointed stare at him and ordered him to get it. He trudged back down the stairs to find Harry Watson standing in the doorway an attractive woman standing behind her.

“You forgot my nephew’s birthday,” she said with an eye roll, stepping into the hallway and pushing past him.

“So did you,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Not my kid, not my responsibility,” she said with a half-smile. “Oh, Anna darling, this is Sherlock Holmes, my brother’s best friend and Alex’s guardian now.”

“ _The_ Sherlock Holmes?” Anna asked, glancing between the two of them with wide eyes.

Sherlock looked her over, taking in the ink smudge on her wrist and the chalk dust on her skirt. Teacher. The necklace she was wearing had a small A and H engraved on it, serious then. The jewelry appeared to have been worn regularly, but did indicate a certain level of care. Things were going well then. Anna smiled warmly at him and though he didn’t particularly like it, he had to admit it seemed Harry had chosen a fitting partner.

“Well, why don’t you let us go see if er…Molly wasn’t it? Yes, if Molly needs our help.”

She headed towards the stairs, Sherlock noticed the bags in her hand as well. Whatever was apparently bigger than he’d anticipated. Sherlock felt his stomach sinking. Especially when he noticed someone else coming to the door.

“What are you doing here?” he asked Lestrade.

“Got some kind of an invite from Molly,” the man said with a shrug. “Figured I’d come over. It’s the little tyke’s birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, glancing at the wrapped gift in Lestrade’s hand as well. Trust Molly to blow things out of proportion this way. “Yes it is. Do you know of anyone else coming?”

“Eh, when I asked her she mentioned you, Mrs. Hudson, John’s sis and that’s it. I think it’ll be fairly small.”

Sherlock let out a dramatic sigh and shut the door, following Lestrade up to the flat only to find that Molly had completely rearranged everything. On the floor was a dummy, arranged at an odd angle. To the side was a fake gun and several pieces of furniture appeared to have been knocked over. Molly was standing there looking very proud of herself.

“Alright you lot, I need your help too. Please take these and look them over.” Molly passed around cards.

Sherlock glanced at his, taking in a profile that fit him in terms of description, other than describing him as a musician with two children and a wife. He had been to dinner with a friend from 6-8 before going home to his family that evening. He had been known for his temper, had more than one incidence of violence in public, and had been seen with the victim on the day of his death. Getting a general gist, Sherlock began to realize Molly had apparently set up some kind of murder mystery. Wonderful.

“That, is Anthony Rosenberg, the director of the Royal Opera House,” Molly began, stuttering a bit in her nervousness. “At approximately 7:13 AM this morning, he was discovered in an empty flat by the landlady. The case has baffled police who’ve decided to call in an outside detective to make sense of it. He will examine the crime scene and do a few interviews with the main suspects. We have the angry musician who worked in the opera house,” she glanced at Sherlock. “We have his wife, who was getting ready for a divorce,” she looked at Anna who giggled. “His son who will inherit everything,” she glanced at Greg. “His supposed mistress,” she said, glancing at Harriet. “And of course, his housekeeper who will be letting the detective up in just a moment.”

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, but he supposed this was more efficient than letting Alex at an actual crime scene.

Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs with Alex. Sherlock turned to see the boy with one of this silly hats on, vibrating with excitement. Molly smiled and walked over crouching down to explain things to Alex. The boy nodded eagerly, accepting her offer to help him with some of the trickier aspects.

The guests stood to the side while Alex examined the body. He made remarks to Molly, plucked up a hair from the man’s jacket as evidence, and dusted for fingerprints. Molly promised to set to work on lab analysis for him, even as Alex began to start interrogating the suspects. Sherlock already knew who it was, and it was tempting to just tell the boy and have it over with. Even so he allowed Alex to come over and start talking with him.

“Where were you on the night of Mr. Rosenberg’s murder?” Alex asked.

“I was at dinner and then home with my wife,” Sherlock answered.

Alex glanced down at the cards. “Your wife says you weren’t home from dinner until after eleven, but the restaurant saw you leave at nine.”

Sherlock sighed. “Well, I went for a walk afterwards.”

“But you have no alibi for that time?”

Sherlock shook his head and sighed.

Alex went around and asked the same questions amongst the rest of the group. Sherlock waited until Molly returned with the “lab results” telling Alex that the DNA and fingerprints both matched Sherlock’s character. Alex looked at the information himself before turning to look at Sherlock.

“I’m afraid the evidence seems to point to you,” Alex said with a sigh. “Any detective would declare you guilty. But I’m not just any detective.” He grinned and tugged at his cap and Sherlock did feel a minimal bit of pride at the boy’s ability to see past the obvious.

“Your fingerprints and hair are on him because you did see him that night in this flat where you’ve been seen before. There are fingerprints under his shirt too, but none on his buttons so you didn’t undo it or redo it. Clearly he or someone else put his shirt back on prior to his killing before the weapon pierced his chest. You are too embarrassed to say why and know it will make you look guiltier,” Alex said. “You’re…um…” he looked at Molly who nodded. “You’re lovers.”

There was a small gasp around the room. Lestrade chuckled and winked at him even as Harry raised a brow.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Precisely. Now, if it’s not me why don’t you tell us all who it is?”

“Well, the person who was there after you left of course,” Alex turned. “Out of habit, after you two are finished Mr. Rosenberg will have the place cleaned by his housekeeper. And it’s obvious too because some of the dust had been swept off the mantle, but the rest of the place was fairly dirty, showing she’d started her job but not finished. She was interrupted.”

“But why would a kind old housekeeper kill Mr. Rosenberg?” Sherlock pressed.

Alex tilted his head. “Well, the logs say she had a call from a burner cell prior to committing the act. So I’d say she was being paid by someone.”

“Good. And that person is?”

“Well obviously who is the person who cares the most about him having an affair and has the housekeeper’s number? Well that would have to be the other person who hires her, Mrs. Rosenberg,” Alex said grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh you’ve got me,” Anna said with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve figured out my dark plan.”

“So, you and Mrs. Hudson are both under arrest,” Alex said with a giggle.

“Oh you did so well, Alex!” Molly said, coming over to give him a big hug. “Look at you, such a smart little detective.”

He smiled and leaned into her embrace before being interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

“Oh isn’t that perfect, but we do still have cake and presents too.”

Alex smiled and agreed, asking the other guests to come downstairs to eat whatever Mrs. Hudson had made. They followed her to the stairs while Alex came back over to Sherlock.

“Did I do well?” he asked.

“You were spectacular,” Sherlock said, even though he believed he could have solved it much faster at Alex’s age, it was still impressively done. “You make a fine detective.”

“Thanks,” Alex said. “But obviously you’re the best. There isn’t a crime you can’t solve!”

Sherlock just gave a small chuckle and led Alex towards the rest of the party. He couldn’t help but think about how he still hadn’t been able to find Moriarty. Alex’s assessment seemed a little poor in light of that fact, but the detective decided to not spoil the day, leaving Alex to his joyous smiles as he awaited cake and ice cream.


	8. Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock makes some discoveries about parenting, and also some important observations about Alex inspiring fear for his future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very mild violence included in this chapter. Thought I'd warn you. Read and review please!

Parenting was going well. It was rather easy actually. It was all about timing and rules. Getting Alex off to school on time. Getting Alex into bed on time. Making rules on what to eat. Making rules on what to do. Rules time rules time. Though neither of those were Sherlock’s favorite, he muddled along and felt he was finally beginning to get the hang of it. Of course, Mrs. Hudson was bound to disagree.

“All children are difficult at times, Sherlock,” she pointed out. “Just you wait. Mary used to tell me tales, let me tell you. He may seem like a little angel right now, but you’ll soon learn they look that way to keep us from strangling them.”

Sherlock had ignored that. Alex wasn’t like most children. He was intelligent. He was mature. Sherlock didn’t need to worry about any of those normal things. Other than a little crying over his parents, but otherwise he’d been fairly easy to deal with. Rare complaints about bedtime, or the occasional green vegetable. But it wasn’t until a few months in that Sherlock had his first taste of real challenge.

Alex came home from school one afternoon seeming oddly quiet. He played for a bit up in his room, but when Mrs. Hudson called him down to have some of the dinner she’d prepared (thank goodness since Sherlock realized he’d forgotten to buy food during the day), he was even more silent.

As they ate Alex kept looking at him. After a while he paused and set his fork aside.

“Sherlock, can I ask you something?”

“May I ask, and if you must,” Sherlock muttered, eyes trailing over the newspaper to the side of his plate, still looking for hints of Moriarty’s activity in the news.

“Would…er…would you let me play football next fall?”

Sherlock frowned, not bothering to look up. “Why ever would you want to do that?”

“All my friends are going to. Plus…some people still are being mean to me…and…I thought if I showed them I’m good at sports maybe they’ll be nicer.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “So, you’ll neglect your studies to go play pointless games? What good will that do you? None. No, I don’t believe that’s a good idea.”

“But everyone’s playing.”

“You don’t do something just because everyone’s doing it,” Sherlock muttered, lifting a fork to his mouth, studying some news about a bank robbery that he had a definite feeling held potential. He’d have to phone Lestrade.

“So no?”

“No,” Sherlock agreed. “You’d be much better off doing something else with your time.”

“Please, Sherlock. I really want to play.”

Sherlock sighed. “I don’t have time to deal with taking you to practice and all that. Don’t worry, you’ll find something else to do.”

There was a long silence, Sherlock was relieved that was the end of it and went back to studying over the minute details of the robbery. The story said there were two men involved, but he had a feeling there were three. But he’d need more in order to be sure.

A crash interrupted his thoughts.

Sherlock looked up to see Alex scowling at him, his half eaten plate smashed on the floor. Alex’s hands were curled into fists on the now cleared table. His blue eyes were staring at Sherlock with some impossible level of rage, though he could just barely make out tears brimming as well.

“Why can’t you ever understand!” Alex suddenly shouted. “You never try to understand! You don’t _get it_. I try so hard to show you but you never see it! I hate you!”

Sherlock sat frozen, staring at this transformed child in front of him, unable to process the sudden change in attitude. Before he could say a word though, Alex rose and darted off towards the door. A loud slam echoed down the stairway and then thumping footsteps and a scream that dissolved into rough sobs.

The detective stared at the table, at his own plate growing cold. The reaction hadn’t been anticipated. Then again, many times he was wrong in his anticipations in regards to human emotion. Still, the level of outburst seemed unwarranted in his mind.

Footsteps made him aware of someone entering the flat. Instead of seeing Alex returning, it was Mrs. Hudson, eyes wide.

“What was that all about? What happened, Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head and pushed his plate away. “I’m not sure. An outburst of some kind. Something about wanting to play football…”

“Oh, he’s been talking about that for a week now. So exciting isn’t it! Something for him to do, get that energy out. Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

“I told him I thought there were better uses for his time,” Sherlock said.

Mrs. Hudson’s jaw dropped. “Oh Sherlock you didn’t!”

He shrugged and watched as she bent over to start trying to gather up broken fragments of plate.

“He’s been dealing with bullying in school. I told you that, a few weeks back, weren’t you listening?”

Sherlock shrugged again, glancing back at the newspaper.

“He just wants to fit in. And I think he’s got some natural athletic talent in him. He is John’s after all. He needs outlets. Needs things to do. Ways to find friends. Oh please don’t ignore that, Sherlock. He’s going to fall apart if you’re not careful.”

Sherlock snorted, but watched her curiously as she finished cleaning and headed back towards the stairs. He didn’t really see the point in letting Alex go do this silly thing, but Mrs. Hudson seemed to think it was important, and she seemed to have a better understanding of the way children thought about things than he did.

Rising from his chair, Sherlock walked towards the stairs, thinking of what he’d say as he made his way up. He knocked on the door, waiting a moment and then opening it.

Something hit him right between the eyes. Sherlock made a sharp noise and stumbled backwards, catching himself on the wall. He turned to see Alex holding a toy gun, scowling at him fiercely.

“Go away!” Alex snapped.

“Alex, we need to talk,” Sherlock said, sticking out a hand, but not in enough time to stop the next toy bullet that hit his chest.

“Leave me alone!”

A third bullet struck him, almost in the exact same spot on his chest. Right over his heart. Realization of Alex’s impressive aim struck him. Like mother like son apparently. Though he normally could make out more John, at the moment he was thrown back to memories of Mary pointing a gun at him after he’d discovered her secret.

“Alex, please. I want to talk about this.” Sherlock held up both his hands and edged along the wall to better enter the room. Alex reluctantly lowered his weapon, giving Sherlock a chance to study the tearstained face.

“Mrs. Hudson says—she says you’ve been dealing with more bullying.”

Alex set the gun on the bed and grabbed up a soft toy. He buried his face in the stuffed bear and began to sob. Sherlock stood there just a moment before walking closer, reluctantly holding out a hand, eventually letting it rest on Alex’s soft hair. He sat on the bed and stroked Alex’s hair, noticing that it was probably getting a little long. With all his powers of observation, there were plenty of things to which he was oblivious.

“Would you like—like to talk about it?” Sherlock asked, grimacing.

Alex shook his head. “Y-you wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” Sherlock said with a sigh, reaching over to pull Alex closer, wrapping his other arm around him.

“Kids at school are mean. They make fun of me f-for being smart,” Alex sobbed. “And I thought if I played football they might like me more. ‘Cause all the most popular boys play football. And I want to too.”

“I understand, Alex,” Sherlock said. “Better than you know. Do you know what I was called in school?”

“N-no.”

“Freak. Weirdo.” Sherlock took a deep breath, trying not to think too hard on those old days. “I never wanted to fit in though. I gave up on that. I felt I was better than them. I—but you’re not like me. You’re like your father. And your father always wanted people to like him too…and I don’t think I can ever understand, but I will respect your wish. This next fall we’ll find time to have you join a football league.”

“Really?” Alex asked, wiping his eyes.

“Yes. Though…I think at this point I am supposed to do some sort of…punishment thing for your behavior earlier.”

Alex frowned. “Can you just take away my telly time?”

“Mmm…will you bother me when I’m working?”

“Maybe.”

“Then no. What about…no ice cream this week.”

Alex giggled. “That punishes you too.”

“I’ll live,” Sherlock said with an eye roll. “So, punishment given. No more screaming and breaking plates. And you’ll apologize to Mrs. Hudson for the mess.”

“She’s not supposed to clean it up!” Alex pointed out. “She’s not our housekeeper.”

“Regardless, she did. So apologize.”

“Yeah.” Alex paused and looked up at Sherlock, tears rapidly drying. “You’re not very good at this punishing thing, are you?”

“Not really.” Sherlock muttered. “My parents used to just send me to my room. Which was where I preferred to be anyways.”

Alex giggled, but soon sobered and looked at him more seriously. “I didn’t mean what I said, Sherlock. I…Sherlock I love you.”

The detective froze as Alex suddenly threw his arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. Those words. Three simple words he’d only heard on a rare occasion from his family. But he’d never really expected to hear them. Least of all after having Alex have a moment of rage and tears. Were children really this volatile? He’d heard this before, of course, but never quite expected it.

Sherlock closed his arms around Alex in a hug, not daring to whisper those words in return. He didn’t trust his voice. Nor did he know if he really meant them. What did love mean after all? It was a rather imprecise word.

“We’ll sign you up for football,” Sherlock settled for instead, thinking back to the impressive aiming earlier, already having a good feeling Alex would do rather well athletically.

Three months later proved that point. As Sherlock sat on cold metal bleachers, huddling into his coat less from cold and more from fear of inviting attention of the other parents who were eagerly cheering and clapping. Mrs. Hudson kept shouting out things to Alex, delightedly remarking to Sherlock what a great athlete he was going to be.

In the meantime, Sherlock’s gaze calculated her words, admitting she had a point as Alex scored a third goal early in the first half. He was impressive. He had precision in his movements, speed in his running, obvious thought before he made any sort of play. But what Sherlock was beginning to see were aspects of both his parents he hadn’t quite anticipated. Mary’s deadly assassin background, John’s army one. Both were talented in those respects. Alex was putting forward his potential for such as well. Especially as Sherlock noted some level of aggression in his plays.

One of the opposing players muttered something to Alex as they walked back to centerfield. He saw the boy’s head jerk, brow furrowing, jaw clenching. Even so he didn’t react in the moment. He waited until they started again, but he saw it. Watched as Alex turned his attention to the play, and in a moment no one would connect back, he aimed a ball towards the boys head.

As the boy was pulled from the field with a bloody nose Sherlock kept running through Mycroft’s words.

_Instilling psychopathic tendencies._

Alex didn’t look overly concerned as the other boy was taken from the field, blood dripping from his face.

Whether or not Mycroft was right on his influence, Sherlock was becoming aware not only of parenting’s complications in instilling a balance of discipline and indulgence, but also of the complicated balance of human ability. The question as old as time of nature vs. nurture played in his mind. Was he influencing Alex? Or was this merely the boy’s real self coming forward in moments where it was called for? John had been deadly in spite of his compassion. Mary too. But was there danger in that? He’d simply have to hope his guiding hand would do its work.


	9. Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an important anniversary comes, Sherlock ponders using, and further destruction is caused by Moriarty.

Sherlock had started to be in the habit of visiting John’s grave once a month. Initially he thought it was a silly thing to do, speaking to a stone as though there was a person there rather than rotting corpse. However, Harry had told him Alex needed to visit sometimes, that it was healthy and good to face the reality of his parent’s death. And he had to admit the more he went, the more he began to realize why people did so. It gave him a part of John to hold onto.

The consulting detective usually tried to buy a flower for Alex to lay on the grave. Alex seemed to appreciate that in some form. And then he’d sit and tell his mum and dad about what he’d been doing, and how great Sherlock was, and how he was going to catch Moriarty, even though several months had passed.

Sherlock himself tended to tell John how Alex was learning and growing, and more than anything how he missed him. He had once or twice even asked what John had at his own graveside…for him not to be dead. For it not to be real.

By the time the year anniversary hit, Sherlock was beginning to feel a sense of despair. He would never catch Moriarty. He would never avenge John. His best friend had died in vain.

However, the night before going to visit John to mark the year of his death, Sherlock had a dream. In it, he walked along a lonely London street. At the end of the street waited John. Old good familiar John, smile in place, waiting for his oldest dearest friend.

“Hello, Sherlock,” John said.

“You’re dead.”

“Yep,” John agreed. “Doesn’t mean I can’t pop in and say hi.”

“This is merely my subconscious,” Sherlock pointed out. “It’s nothing more than that.”

“Regardless, it’s important,” John said. “I need you to look after Alex, Sherlock. I don’t care if you don’t catch Moriarty. You have to care for him.”

“I’m trying,” Sherlock said before he woke.

He couldn’t sleep after that. He thought back to all those months of taking the boy to school and helping with his homework. Mrs. Hudson chastising him for not making proper food and making them some herself. Weeks and weeks of dressing and bathing and tucking in, reading bedtime stories from John’s blog, telling Alex about his recent cases. Could he continue? He’d done so much already. But without John…the despair truly was beginning to set in.

On the day of the anniversary, Sherlock began to feel the urge to use. Anything to forget for a bit. Anything to disappear from the reality that John was gone, that he’d done nothing to help that. Anything to stop _feeling_ for a few minutes, hours, whatever.

And then he had a call from Mycroft.

“Don’t do it,” was the first thing out of Mycroft’s mouth.

“Do what,” Sherlock sighed, rubbing his temple.

“The moment I have any clue you’re using, I will not hesitate to have Alex taken away. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

“It’s been a year, what makes you think I’m suddenly going to change my behavior,” Sherlock muttered.

“I know it’s today, Sherlock. I’m not an idiot”

“That’s what you think,” Sherlock said under his breath.

“Do pay attention. In spite of some of your…problems… what with body parts in the refrigerator and lack of adequate nutrition on hand, on potential weapons stored away, on general uncleanliness, the social worker has continued to write that Alex seems happy and healthy in her reports. You are in a good place to maintain guardianship in spite of your many issues. One day of feeling a little sad is not a good excuse to screw it up.”

Sherlock thought back to his dream, to John warning him on taking care of Alex.

“I’m trying,” Sherlock sighed.

“Good. Try harder. In spite of my initial reservations, I sense Alex does you some good.”

And with Mycroft ending the call, Sherlock steeled himself to try harder. He couldn’t use. Mycroft was right. They would take Alex away. And the moment they did things would be even worse. He’d grown used to company. He’d grown used to having someone there…He’d started to like having Alex tell him he was…loved… he’d never thought that was possible before.

After a rough day on his own, he picked Alex up from school. The boy was more solemn than usual, readying himself for the inevitable visit that probably would have further reminders of the loss than normal. He was silent in the cab beside Sherlock.

They arrived at the cemetery after a long drive. Sherlock took Alex’s hand and led him off towards the far corner where his parent’s graves were waiting. The boy eventually released his grip on the detective, wandering over on his own with a small bouquet of flowers. However, he froze just a short ways from the graves.

Sherlock, in his own world, almost didn’t notice. Until he realized Alex was standing stalk still and observed what had caused the boy to freeze up.

Against the base of a nearby tree were two people. And while they initially appeared to be sitting quietly in its shade, a closer examination proved the two were quite dead. Sherlock stared at a man dressed in a dark coat, a blond haired boy beside him, probably no more than nine years old.

“Sherlock,” Alex whispered, staring at the two bodies.

“Go back to the cab,” Sherlock ordered.

“What?”

“Go back to the cab, now!” Sherlock snapped. He tossed his phone to Alex. “And call Lestrade…and Mycroft too. Tell them Moriarty’s struck again.”

For there was no doubt in the detective’s mind that Moriarty had to be the one behind this. He drew closer to examine the bodies, cautious as he did so remembering Moriarty’s last game of lighting the building on fire. He wouldn’t allow harm to come to Alex at least.

A father and son. He knew based on similarities in facial structure. Or at least they were relatives, but father and son was most likely in spite of the difference in coloring—the boy blond the man a brunet. The man had been placed in a coat not unlike one of his, though it clearly wasn’t the exact same. The boy was in a school uniform, a public school in the heart of the city, not Alex’s thankfully. The similarities were too obvious. There had to be real clues here. Something that would tell Sherlock what he needed to know to catch Moriarty.

Single father. No ring on his finger, so no wife. His shirt was crinkled, probably not ironed. He likely didn’t have the time. His trousers had been worn more than once too. Nonetheless, Sherlock kept looking for clues, kept searching for signs of what Moriarty had done, why he’d done it.

Though no doctor, Sherlock had the idea that the two had been strangled. There were fingerprint marks on both of their throats. Moriarty’s own or a henchman’s? He couldn’t be sure, though the size looked just about right…

A scream interrupted his thinking.

Sherlock jerked up and turned towards the way he’d come from. Alex! He was running before another thought could enter his mind. Not Alex. No. Sherlock tore back towards where they’d instructed the cabbie to wait. The car was sitting there, but there was no sign of the cabbie or Alex.

The detective stood there, mind racing, trying to decide what the next move was. Venture into his mind palace? Search the area?

“Alex!” he called. “Alex!”

He closed his eyes and prepared to enter his mind palace. He needed to calm down. He needed to breathe. He needed to focus. He needed to stop picturing Alex’s dead body, handprints on his throat. Alex stiff and still. Alex buried beside John and Mary.

And then he heard something.

“Sherlock.”

He turned, opening his eyes. He hardly dared to believe it. Thankfully, his ears had been correct. As he looked, he saw Alex running back down the road.

A sigh of relief passed his lips, even as he bolted back towards Alex. He scanned the boy as he ran, taking in every detail he could. There was a tear in the boy’s trousers at the knee, blood dripping from a wound. Otherwise, there were no other signs of harm. Mussed hair from running in the strong breeze. Mud splattered along his shoes and the edges of his trousers. He’d likely slipped and skinned his knee.

“Why did you leave? I told you to stay with the cab!” Sherlock snapped.

“Moriarty was here,” Alex said. “I saw him. He was here—he was at the cab when I got back. I chased him.”

“You what?”

“Chased him. I thought if I could catch him…or well maybe just stop him so you or Lestrade could get him.”

“Don’t you ever do that again,” Sherlock said. He grabbed Alex by the shoulders stared into those familiar blue eyes. “Do you understand? You see him again, you _run_. Don’t you ever try to face him.”

Alex stared at him. “But—we have to catch him!”

“You are more important than catching Jim Moriarty, do you understand!” Sherlock growled. He shook Alex roughly. “I promised your father! Do you understand?”

The boy’s mouth had fallen open. “But—”

“No buts! You could have been killed! You could have been…” Sherlock broke off gasping. He staggered backwards, coming to a seat on the grass, trying to understand what was happening. This had never happened before.

“Sherlock?”

Alex came over to sit next to him, putting a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“Sherlock, just breathe. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

The detective forced himself to slow down, to breathe more deeply as Alex was suggesting. He felt his heartbeat slowing some, his body beginning to relax and stop producing adrenalin. Alex’s arms wrapped around him suddenly and he pulled Alex towards him in a tight hug.

After a moment of just holding the boy, relieved he was unharmed, Sherlock finally took into account missing information. He pulled back slightly to look at Alex again.

“Where’s the cabbie?”

Alex’s eyes went wide. “It was him, Sherlock! It was Moriarty!”

“Wait…” Sherlock paused and tried to recall a picture of the cabbie into his mind. Very little came to him, though that was the beauty of such a disguise. Anonymity. People were oblivious to cabbies. Why he’d proved that much in his first major case with John. And here Moriarty had shown it again. He’d been wearing a hat…scarf…glasses…fake facial hair perhaps? When he’d spoken there had been a heavy accent—but Moriarty likely knew enough languages to pull off a convincing one.

“He had another car. Probably so we couldn’t track his plate or anything,” Alex said smartly.

“Probably,” Sherlock agreed. “Did he touch you?”

Alex shook his head, brow furrowing. “No. He just said to…give his love to you.” He stuck out his tongue. “Maybe give you a kiss or something. He’s so gross, Sherlock.”

“Agreed,” Sherlock murmured with a half smile that couldn’t quite change his mood about the whole situation. He let out a deep sigh. His ears perked up to the sound of sirens, and just in time Lestrade’s car was peeling around the corner, coming to a screeching halt a meter from the curb.

“You alright?” Lestrade asked as he clambered out. “Alex, what happened?”

“He got away,” Alex said. He looked up at Sherlock with something akin to a pout. “I tried to chase him. I really did.”

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade muttered, looking at Sally Donovan. “We thought he’d taken you. Have you any idea what kind of a fright you gave us dropping that phone and going screaming off with him cackling all bastard-like in the background? Cor, don’t you ever do that again, you understand me?”

“I already gave him a lecture,” Sherlock said, patting Alex’s head and releasing him. “I trust he’ll be more cautious next time when confronting criminals.”

“Or not, considering he’s John’s son being raised by you,” Lestrade said. “Now, what was all that about dead bodies?”

“Right, this way,” Sherlock said, pushing Alex away to go back towards the cemetery. “Sergeant Donovan, would you please see if there’s a first aid kit for Alex’s knee.”

“I’m just supposed to sit here and bandage some kid’s knee while you go investigate?” Donovan muttered. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Your talents are better used for that than trying to help us with your meager skills. Come, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, “this way. I think you’ll find this quite interesting. Moriarty continues to prove himself an even more elusive and confounding mastermind.”

“You got that right,” Lestrade muttered.

Sherlock left Alex with Donovan, though he kept looking back over his shoulder every so often, unable to stop thinking of the danger posed to his ward. Hopefully Donovan wouldn’t prove herself completely incompetent. And with that laughable thought, Sherlock turned back to investigating the crime scene.

 

* * *

Later that night, Mycroft made an appearance. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, wandering through his mind palace as he tried to solve the case. He was jerked back to the reality of his setting when he heard footsteps. He looked up to see his brother walking into the room, folding up his umbrella.

“Hello, brother. I’m so glad you took my advice from earlier,” Mycroft said with a heavy sigh, pursing his lips. “Self-restraint, I marvel at the changes in you.”

“Hmm.”

“So, Moriarty struck again. This time killing doppelgangers of you and your charge. It’s been a full year and still no leads.”

“Is there a reason for your visit?” Sherlock muttered. “Or have you come to tell me what I already know.”

“You’re acting very cavalier for someone who just had a very clear death threat made against him and a child,” Mycroft sneered. “So please, don’t try to act like you don’t need me here, Sherlock. You do. This is only escalating. We’re concerned. You do remember the only reason you were released from your exile was so that you could get rid of Moriarty.”

“Your point is?”

“My point is, some have questioned if bringing you back from exile was the right decision,” Mycroft said. “And I for one cannot continue to defend you and—”

“Shhh,” Sherlock suddenly said, recognizing the escalating volume of Mycroft’s frustration. He cast a glance towards the couch where Mycroft suddenly noticed a quilted form curled up on the surface. Based on the small size and ruffled blond hair poking out the top, clearly Alex.

“Why is he sleeping down here?” Mycroft muttered.

“I was worried Moriarty might pay us another visit. Last time he broke into Alex’s room first. I wanted him with me just in case,” Sherlock said with a shrug. “And if he does I’m ready.”

“Hmm,” Mycroft looked between his brother and the boy curiously. “Well, regardless you do understand, don’t you? This has to stop.”

“I’m going to start dismantling that bank robbing operation he’s set up,” Sherlock said. “It’s a start. I’m doing my job, Mycroft. Better than anyone else is.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a good project. I’m surprised you haven’t asked about the two victims at all.”

“Are you?” Sherlock said, looking up at his brother with a frown.

“Or perhaps not,” Mycroft said, shooting another look towards Alex. “You’re going to not sleep tonight?”

“No. I’ll sleep when today is over and I’m sure Moriarty is done having his fun.”

There was a soft groan from the couch, then Sherlock’s name. The consulting detective sighed and rose, walking over to shush Alex. Mycroft stood watching as his brother knelt down at the side of the couch, running his hand through Alex’s hair, whispering soft things.

“Well, if you want any more information about the two murders, I would be happy to provide anything your deductions cannot find for you. Anything to help you stop him,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock spun and glared at him, putting a finger over his mouth before peering down at Alex, concern in his expression that was eased as the boy remained still.

“I think these conversations might be better suited to another time,” Sherlock whispered, rising and moving away from the couch, leaving Alex cuddled with his bear, eyes closed.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft muttered. “Be careful, Sherlock.”

“I try,” Sherlock said with a shrug.

Mycroft sighed and ventured back towards the door. He turned once to look at his brother, watching as Sherlock laid a soft kiss on Alex’s head.

“He really suits you in some ways,” Mycroft said. “But I’ll say it again—don’t get involved. Caring is never an advantage.”

“How would you know,” Sherlock said, looking up to shoot him a glare.

Mycroft offered a half smile. “I know better than you’d think. Goodnight, _brother_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review if you enjoyed this (or if you have constructive criticism or something). I have three WIP's right now, so it's sort of become a popularity contest to see what gets updates most regularly. Reviews inspire me to keep going. ;)


	10. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock fails to keep a schedule, cracks a case, and answers some tough questions at home and on the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was sad I couldn’t get this up for mother’s day with mummy Sherlock and all ;), but here it is today instead. Enjoy!

“I know when the robbers are going to strike,” Sherlock said into the phone, keeping his voice low as he glanced towards Alex, now awake and eating breakfast while watching some television.

“How the bloody hell can you know that?” Lestrade demanded.

“Moriarty is playing a game, Lestrade. A game has rules.”

“A game has rules like blowing up a bloody boathouse and leaving dead bodies at a graveyard?”

“The dead bodies were only on the anniversary of John and Mary’s death. The explosion was only in the location of his kidnap and torture. There are clearly rules, and that applies to the bank robbings too.”

“So? What are the bloody rules and how did you figure out when it will be?”

“They started out seeming random, in fact I had to search a bit to make sure I caught all of the ones that Moriarty was behind…there were a few not listed in his file. But he clearly has staged all of these so I calculated the dates between them to look for a pattern. He’s been increasing the time between them, but it’s on a formula. So he started out with 14 days, then 21, then 77, then don’t you see?”

“No,” Lestrade said.

“Why do I put up with you pointless people,” Sherlock sighed. “It’s a sequence, Lestrade, do keep up. Every time is 13 days plus the cubed product of whatever attempt this is. Hence 13 plus 1 cubed, 14, 13 plus 2 cubed is 21, do you see? And so on and so forth. This will be the sixth and so it will be 229 days apart from the last date, and yes I expect soon he’ll quit this and start a new pattern since they are growing too far apart for the attack to seem entirely logical, or perhaps he’ll begin a second one alongside this one. Now, the time is also on a schedule. Each attack alternates between a 6 hour difference and a 1 hour difference. Last time was a 1 hour difference, so this will be a 6. Meaning the bank robbers will strike at eight AM tomorrow before the bank has even opened.”

“I’m not sure if I should think that’s brilliant or madness,” Lestrade muttered. “How the hell did you figure all that out?”

“Numbers aren’t altogether difficult to figure out, Lestrade. And besides, he continues to make a point with them.”

“So?”

“So, Alex was born on the thirteenth of March… so 13 cubed… I was born on the sixth of January…so 6 and 1 alternating”

“Cor, that’s good. What a creep. But wouldn’t the first attack have happened before John and Mary’s deaths? So why use Alex’s birthday and all?”

Sherlock thought back to the night Moriarty had broken in, the words he’d said.    

_Don’t you think there was a reason I let the little kitten live? Thought you’d need a replacement since you lost old Johnny boy. Who better than his little brat. Hmm? One you can even train yourself…mold to your liking._

So, he’d planned for Sherlock to have Alex before killing John and Mary then. Probably had known about the Watson’s wishes before they died. Clever.

“Regardless, the point is we’re going to catch them in the act tomorrow morning. We’ll be ready for them.”

“Which bank?” Lestrade asked.

“I’ve narrowed it down to three,” Sherlock said. “We can have men on all of them and I’ll come with you to the one I have the biggest hunch on.”

“Well, if you say so. I’d love to catch those bastards, that’s for sure. But he’s not going to be there is he?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I would imagine he won’t be. He’s sitting back and letting others do his work. If I can dismantle some of his network though, I’ll take away some of his power. It’s a place to start.”

“Yeah, sure. Well, I’ll swing by and pick you up early tomorrow. Six alright?”

“Yes, sounds good.”

“And you have a plan for the tyke? You aren’t bringing him along.”

“No,” Sherlock said. “I have a sitter for him. He’ll be fine.”

“Great. See you first thing tomorrow then.”

Sherlock answered in the affirmative before hanging up. He sighed and started thinking of all he’d have to do before then.

“Hoohoo.”

He looked up to see Mrs. Hudson in the doorway.

“Sherlock, why’s Alex not ready for school? And what’s he watching?”

“Hmm?” he looked up to see Alex still in his chair dressed in pajamas watching what looked like some sort of bloody murder, then looked at the clock. It was five minutes till nine.

“Alex, go put your clothes on and grab your things, now!” Sherlock snapped, rising to his feet. He snatched up the remote and clicked off the television, not particularly seeing a problem in Alex watching the show, but more in realizing they had only a few minutes to get to school.

“Oh, Sherlock. Does he have his lunch?”

“I forgot to make one,” the detective admitted.

“I’ll go pack something quickly. You gather up his books and anything else he needs,” Mrs. Hudson said, flapping her hands. “I’ll be back in a moment, dear.”

Thankfully, Alex was not a slow dresser and was down in only a moment’s time, ready although a bit rumpled. Sherlock quickly smoothed the boy out as best he could, particularly the very wild hair the boy had apparently forgotten to comb. They would need to take him in for a haircut soon.

“Ready?” Sherlock asked, slinging the boy’s bag over his shoulder.

“We running for it?” Alex asked, clearly excited by the prospect. The school was only a few blocks away.

“Yes.”

“The game is on,” Alex said with a grin, making a mad dash for the door. Sherlock smiled and rushed after him, nearly missing Mrs. Hudson sticking a bag out her door.

“His lunch, dear. Don’t forget his lunch.”

He grabbed for it shouting a thank you behind him, even as he continued to hustle out the door, following in Alex’s trail. The boy was running fast, all those football practices paying off. Sherlock found himself wondering if Moriarty would have stood a chance if not for his car. The boy’s athletic abilities were proving themselves, but even so Sherlock’s long legs didn’t make it too hard to keep up.

The school appeared a few blocks away. The two kept going, having to stop only at busy intersections, but even those they sometimes went through without too much hesitation, a few cars honking as they darted into the crosswalk without paying too much attention. Sherlock found the run reminiscent of one or two of his chases with John.

“Come on, almost there,” Alex panted over his shoulder before pushing into a full sprint towards the school. A bell rang and Sherlock sighed, aware they’d already missed the start of class. Even so, they were only a minute or two late.

They careened through the door, running into the main office. Sherlock chuckled as Alex shot him a smile, even though he was aware they hadn’t quite made it in time.

“Mr. Holmes,” the secretary sighed from her desk. “Late again?”

“Sorry, my fault,” Sherlock said. “Though congratulations on losing five pounds. Oh and that new haircut clearly suits you. Of course, your new choice in makeup also just makes you look all the more lovely, those eyes just seem to…pop.”

She rolled said eyes and grabbed for a form. “Here, sign. If Alex is late three more times this term he’ll be suspended. I would recommend avoiding that.”

“Hmm, yes we’ll try to avoid that,” Sherlock muttered, glancing at Alex who was barely restraining a giggle. “Won’t we, brat?”

“Hey!” Alex protested. “Not my fault you can’t keep track of time. Alright, can I go to class now?”

“Yes,” the secretary sighed. “And if you’re finished with your pathetic flattery Mr. Holmes you may leave.”

“Hmm…touchy after that fight with your brother, aren’t you,” he muttered, before quickly heading to the door. Alex was waiting for him in the hall.

“We can’t be late anymore,” Alex pointed out.

“Yes, I know. We’ll try harder,” Sherlock promised. He crouched down and sure enough Alex threw his arms around him in a quick hug. “Have to try to be normal I suppose.”

“But normal is so booooriiiiiiing,” Alex sing-songed, and then froze.

“What did you say?” Sherlock asked, cocking his head as he stared at the boy.

“Um…”

“Don’t you _ever_ say that again,” Sherlock snapped. “Do you understand me? I don’t _ever_ want to hear words he said in your mouth ever again.”

“Sorry,” Alex whispered, brow wrinkling. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’ll do better.”

“Good,” Sherlock murmured, still feeling shocked by the Moriarty impression that had happened in front of him. “Have fun at school.”

“I’ll see you later, Sherlock.” Alex walked back down the hall.

“Catch you later,” Sherlock promised, even as his mind kept reeling. Well, no matter. He had more important things to think about. Like beginning to ready himself for tomorrow.

* * *

 

 

At 5:45 in the morning there was a knock on the door. Sherlock opened it to find Molly standing there, cup of coffee in hand and a smile already on her face.

“Good morning,” he said, attempting to be cordial even as he realized there were no signs of a new boyfriend on her…and she’d worn more makeup than normal all things considered. Well, it was a good thing he was leaving soon.

“Um yes,” Molly said. “It is, isn’t it? So, Alex is still asleep right?”

“Yes. He’ll likely be up by eight at the latest. There’s some food in the kitchen—well actually there might not be. Depends if Mrs. Hudson restocked or not. If not then she should have some in her own kitchen and you only need to go bother her. Her sister was visiting or something today, but otherwise it shouldn’t be a lot of trouble to drop by and grab a bite to eat. Anyhow, that’s probably everything you need to know.”

“Just call you with any questions, right? I’ve done this loads of times growing up, babysitting and all…earning a little extra cash. I mean, I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Molly said with a nervous smile.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, grabbing his coat and swinging it on. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll call you if I’m delayed, but I would expect by early afternoon.”

“Good luck to you, Sherlock.”

He shrugged and headed to the door, going downstairs to find Lestrade already waiting.

“Ready to go?”

Sherlock nodded and slid into the passenger’s seat. Lestrade steered his way through the city to the bank in question, where the two men soon found themselves waiting out front, several other police in waiting as Lestrade readied himself to make the call.

“You really think it’s this one?” Lestrade asked.

“Based on their previous choices, yes,” Sherlock said.

“Well, I hope so. Hope I get to arrest the bastards myself too, considering last big bank robbery bust we made I didn’t get to make that since I had a text from a certain someone begging for help with a best man speech.”

“Mmm, yes well that was more important anyways.”

“Sure,” Lestrade grunted.

They sat in silence for a while, Lestrade occasionally interrupting to mention a cold case he’d love Sherlock to look at. Often the consulting detective could give a response before he’d heard all the details. Some of them seemed almost obvious. Still, there were no signs of movement around the bank other than occasional passerby. At long last something broke their silence.

“Boss.” Donovan’s voice came from the intercom.

Lestrade picked up his and spoke into it. “What is it?”

“We got signs of some men going round back.”

“Well, looks like you were right, let’s go check it out.”

The two men moved from the car, walking back towards the other side of the building where they found Donovan waiting to the side, peeking out behind a corner.

“It’s got to be them. They’ve got masks and something that appears to be disabling the cameras, just like at the other sights,” the woman said.

“Good,” Lestrade said. “Just wait till they get the door open and I’m making the arrests.”

Sherlock hung back and let them do their work. He was pleased, of course, that the clues had led him to the right conclusion, that he had stopped the robbery from happening and dismantled this little part of Moriarty’s crime network. But he couldn’t help but feel it had been just a little too easy. Not to mention…too laid out.

This was what Moriarty had said on the rooftop. _That’s your weakness – you always want everything to be clever._

It was true, but Moriarty knew that weakness and he knew how to play it. Sherlock needed to proceed with caution. He needed to make sure this wasn’t some trap. More likely he felt it was a distraction, keep Sherlock out chasing random crimes while Moriarty had more time to plan and create whatever tangled web he was weaving.

There was a shout and then the police were running towards the criminals. Sherlock held back, glad there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger as the robbers surrendered without a fight. Lestrade looked quite pleased with himself as he put the cuffs on one of the men before shoving him to several others to take to the car.

“You going to help interrogate?” Lestrade asked when he was finished.

“I think that might be best,” Sherlock agreed.

* * *

 

It was a long and tedious process. Sherlock asked all of the men questions, and had few answers by the end. What he could deduce was fairly meaningless to knowing what Moriarty was up to, but he was determined to stitch together the little clues into something meaningful. He’d have to spend more time thinking about it. The main thing he had gathered was that the men had been consulted by Moriarty, that he had given them the patterns to follow and paid them to use them. That he had made suggestions about a wireless device to disable security features that had worked. Nothing as complicated as what he’d suggested that would open all doors, but something to mess up cameras and all of that nonsense.

By late evening Sherlock knew he needed to be heading back. Molly was probably ready for a break. She’d been kind giving up her day off for him, he supposed.

His mind wandered as he took a cab back, he kept thinking on Moriarty and his web and his potential set up with all the cleverness he’d put in. Something bad was coming.

Mrs. Hudson stopped him on the way up.

“How were they?”

“Oh fine, dear. Molly stopped by about some food for lunch. Said you only had a dissection in the fridge and some chemicals in the pantry. Really dear, if that social worker stops by again you’ll be in trouble.”

“I’ll restock later this week,” Sherlock promised. “No other problems?”

“None that I saw,” Mrs. Hudson said. “But you can ask Molly when you get up.”

Sherlock nodded before heading to the stairs, leaving Mrs. Hudson to go back to her television. He took them two at a time, soon arriving back in his old familiar flat. He noticed immediately that Molly had apparently decided to do a little cleaning. But at the moment, the main thing he was focused on were the two people seated at the table…well two people and four stuffed animals, all with teacups set out in front of them.

Alex spun around and saw him.

“Sherlock!”

He jumped out of his seat and bounded back towards his guardian. Sherlock took a moment to study his charge, startled to find that Alex had makeup on. Smeared messily over his eyes was some bright blue eyeshadow and rouged lipstick that had obviously been smudged off on his teacup.

“We were having a tea party,” Alex said. “But I told Molly that only girls have tea parties so I’d have to be a girl. So she made me all pretty.”

He twirled in his makeshift dress, one of Sherlock’s shirts that Molly had belted at the waist. The boy looked utterly ridiculous.

“I’m Alexandra, and you are?” the boy said with a giggle and a messy curtsy.

“Interesting choice of activity,” Sherlock said, looking back at Molly who turned a bit pink.

“Well, I told Molly I was supposed to be a girl anyways,” Alex said. “But that the doctors got mixed up when they looked at me and so when I was born I was a surprise.”

“Yes you were,” Sherlock agreed, recalling John telling him they were having a girl and the surprise for the parents when Alex turned out to be a boy instead.

“Sherlock,” Alex said, cocking his head, “where do babies come from anyways? Like I now I was in my mum’s tummy when they messed up…but how’d I get there?”

Sherlock opened his mouth only to get a look from Molly.

“Oh, um…we can talk about that later. Why don’t you go change back into your clothes while Molly and I clean up and have a chat.”

“Ok,” Alex agreed, running up to his room. Once his footsteps had quieted upstairs, Sherlock turned towards the pathologist.

“You can’t tell him,” Molly said. “He’s too young, Sherlock. He wouldn’t understand.”

“So what, I tell him nonsense about storks bringing him?”

“Just don’t ruin his innocence just yet, Sherlock. Most children need to wait to hear that sort of thing…he’s just not mature enough yet,” Molly said.

“Hmm,” Sherlock said not sure if he believed her. He was fairly sure he’d learned about intercourse when he was younger than Alex was, and he’d been just fine. Even so, the boy probably would forget by the time he came downstairs. “So…a tea party.”

“Oh, I was just listing things to do,” Molly stammered. “I used to do these with my cousin all the time when she was little. And I told Alex we didn’t have to, but he insisted he could pretend to be a girl and it would be fun. Most of the rest of the day we did some science things with my microscope and a few crafts…and he watched some telly while I…well…”

“Cleaned,” Sherlock said. “Very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome. Thought I could help out a little. You do really good work with him, but I umm… know it has to be hard being a single parent and all…”

“You’re thinking of your own father,” Sherlock said.

Molly swallowed and looked away, tears showing in the corners of her eyes. “He tried really hard, he really did. But it was hard. It always was. I tried helping out when I could after mum died…but it always was a challenge. I mean…you’re…all things considered you’re really doing well…”

“Molly, it’s fine,” Sherlock said. “Thank you for your hard work today. I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Molly said.

They’d gathered the last of the tea cups and plates, putting them in the sink.

“Want me to wash these?” Molly asked. “I mean I’d really love to if that’s alright. I want to help out if I can…not that you can’t do it…but if you would like the help…I’d just—”

“I’ll do it,” Sherlock said. “Well, in a weak…or a year…or well…it doesn’t really matter. More likely Mrs. Hudson will wash them.”

“Oh, let me do them!”

“You’ve done more than enough, Molly. Thank you,” Sherlock said.

“Well, you’re welcome. Call me some other time if you’d like me to babysit. It’s kind of nice being around kids…always thought I’d have them by now you know,” Molly said, suddenly frowning and giving a little sigh.

Not sure what to say to that, Sherlock opted for staying quiet, which thankfully was helped by Alex appearing downstairs. He still had makeup smeared on his face, but he was back in a t-shirt and jeans.

“Are you leaving?” he asked Molly.

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But I’ll come back sometime.”

“Alright,” Alex said. “Thanks Molly.” He ran over to give her a quick squeeze.

“Well catch you two later then. Good evening.”

She headed out and Sherlock turned to the boy.

“We’re cleaning you up, come on.”

He hoisted Alex up sending the child into a fit of giggles. He couldn’t contain a smile himself as he carried Alex to the bathroom, setting him on the edge of the tub and then finding a flannel to start wiping the makeup off.

“Sherlock, do you think my mum and dad were disappointed they didn’t have a girl?” Alex asked, cocking his head.

“Why would you think something ridiculous like that?” Sherlock said with a frown. “Of course not. Other than having to change your name last minute and having to deal with a number of pink gifts for you from friends who’d bought things ahead of time.”

Alex smiled. “And they got to name me after you thanks to being a boy.”

“Hmm…yes….Alexander Sherlock Watson… Though I kept telling your father Sherlock was a perfectly good name for a girl,” Sherlock said with a small smile. He made a particularly hard scrub at one of Alex’s eyes, causing most of the makeup to come off.

“What, Sherly?” Alex giggled. “Ew. That’s a terrible name for a girl.”

“Hmm, your father and mother both agreed.”

Alex paused and thought for a minute as Sherlock managed to remove most of the lipstick. “Sherlock, what would you name a kid if you had one?”

“I’d never really thought about it,” Sherlock said. “I never thought I would have children.”

“Do you like having me?” Alex asked.

“I…I have come to find it an acceptable arrangement,” Sherlock admitted. “And it was what your father wanted after all.”

Alex sat still as he finished cleaning him up.

“Why on earth did you agree to this?” Sherlock muttered as he leaned over to wash off the flannel, watching as the mix of colors ran down the drain.

“Because Molly is sad and lonely and I knew it would make her happy,” Alex said. “She kept talking about how it’s just her and her cat Toby at home. She said she might get another one. I wanted to make her smile. She looked sad a lot.”

“That was…kind of you.”

“Yep.” Alex cocked his head. “Sherlock, do you like Molly?”

“I find her a good friend and a very talented pathologist who proves herself quite useful to me. You remember she helped me with faking my death,” Sherlock said.

“Yeah, that was pretty brilliant.”

“So yes, I like Molly.”

“But do you like _like_ her,” Alex said, eyes sparkling.

Sherlock paused, brow crinkling, glancing at Alex with confusion. “I don’t understand the implications of adding a second like. Are you implying I really enjoy her? Because if so, I’d say I don’t really know that I’d make any kind of—”

“No!” Alex interrupted. “Do you like her…like how my friend Davey like likes Becky and he kissed her a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, you’re implying am I romantically or sexually attracted to her?” Sherlock asked.

Alex gave him a look of confusion and Sherlock recalled Molly’s advice about protecting Alex’s innocence.

“I’m not really…interested in any sort of romantic relationship…especially with Miss Hooper.”

Alex pouted. “But—”

“But nothing,” Sherlock said. He scooped Alex up again. “Come on, let’s go get you some supper. Unless you’re too full from all those biscuits.”

“No!” Alex said. “Never too full for supper!”

“I predict a growth spurt in the next week,” Sherlock said with a smile. “With all this eating you’ve been doing.”

“Sherlock.”

He paused and set Alex down again. The boy looked up at him, brow creased.

“Yes?”

“Molly needs to find somebody. Even if it’s not you. We should set her up on a date or something.”

“Setting up dates—not really my area. But we’ll see,” Sherlock said. “Now, let’s go see what Mrs. Hudson has to eat and I’ll tell you all about today’s arrest of the bank robbers.”

“Yay!” Alex said with a laugh.

Sherlock smiled at his charge as they walked towards the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Please comment if you get a chance. I haven't had much feedback on this site so I've been considering discontinuing posting on here. It hasn't really seemed worth it. 
> 
> Brits, I don’t know if you use the like like phrasing as kids. So here comes my apology for any American errors in word choice or cultural portrayals. Feel free to tell me, though kindness is the key in any good criticism.


	11. Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and Mycroft celebrate their favorite holiday with the family, some important gifts are given, and the consulting criminal decides to play a few new games.

Christmas. How was it Christmas already? Sherlock tried to figure that out as he sat in his parent’s parlor, watching Alex beneath the tree ripping open presents, oohing and aahing over his newest toys.

“I wish you’d bring him by more often,” his mother said. “He’s such a darling thing.”

Sherlock shrugged and refused to answer. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“I do wish both of you had had your own, of course,” she said, turning to shoot a look at the both of them.

“Mummy, why don’t you open the gift from Sherlock and me,” Mycroft said with a grimace.

She smiled and accepted the offered package, which both Holmes boys were pleased to see shut her up on the issue. Alex sat back and smiled as he watched her unwrap her presents. She cooed over the new sweater and squealed upon revealing the Caribbean cruise her sons had booked her.

“Oh come here you two,” she said, motioning to the brothers.

Neither budged.

“Just enjoy mummy, no need for a hug,” Sherlock said.

“I’ll hug you,” Alex offered, coming over to wrap his arms around her.

“Oh such a dear,” she said with a smile. “Not like those two rascal boys of mine. I’m so glad you could come for Christmas this year. Why…this was how I first met you all those years ago, that year Mary and John came with you,” she said with a smile, turning to look at Sherlock. “Wish they could have visited more.”

Alex beamed at her, pleased to have her attention.

“Who’s next for gifts?” the Holmes father asked. “Alex, you ready for another one?”

“Mycroft!” Alex said.

“Someone’s looking out for you,” the man said with a chuckle, eyeing his elder son.

Mycroft sniffed, but did accept the poorly wrapped package, not having to look too hard to see it was from Alex.

“Why are we even doing this? This is two years now of doing Christmas,” Mycroft muttered as he reached to the end of the package to begin carefully undoing the tape, making sure to not rip the paper as he opened it.

“Because, Alex deserves a proper Christmas, and we both know your brother’s not going to give him that,” their mother scolded.

“It’s alright with me,” Alex piped up. “We don’t have to do this just for me. I know Sherlock and Mycroft both hate it.”

“Oh shush you, you’re my excuse right now,” she said with a smile. “I need something to get the boys round again. Now, Mycroft, show us what Alex gave you.”

Mycroft arched a brow as he studied the contents of a small box. He gave a wry smile and lifted a small ornament, clearly homemade. He held it up for all too see, revealing a small black umbrella.

“You always look so cool with your umbrella,” Alex explained. “And Sherlock said you hate Christmas—so since I was making ornaments anyways I figured I’d try to make it not Christmasy. But I thought you could just hang it somewhere or you could give it to your mum and dad to put on their tree so they can remember you even if you’re not here for Christmas. Or you can just throw it away. That’s ok too.”

“Thank you, Alexander,” Mycroft muttered, sticking the ornament back in its box and putting it on the coffee table.

“You’re welcome. Sherlock next!”

Alex grabbed another poorly wrapped package and crawled over to place it in Sherlock’s hands. The detective sighed and looked down at the label reading To: Sherlock Love: Alex. He ripped the paper off without a second thought, opening up a box and staring down at ten glass ornaments.

“These are…um…nice…”

“Look at them, silly!” Alex said with a laugh.

Sherlock pulled out one to find Alex had painted “World’s Best (And Only) Consulting Detective.” Another had a microscope on it. A deerstalker hat. The word “Murder” in red looking a lot like splattered blood. A brain. A smiley face like the one on their wall. A book. A teacup. 221B. And one with two tiny figures, one with yellow hair significantly smaller than the other, the taller with darker hair and a long coat and blue scarf.

His throat suddenly felt a little tight for some reason. He cleared it and nodded, setting the ornaments back in place.

“Oh aren’t those lovely!” his mother cooed. “Oh what wonderful work, Alex. You made these yourself?”

“Yep! Well, I had some help from my teacher, but she encouraged us all to make some the other day. And I sort of went a bit crazy, but she said it was alright. I figured this way we’d have something new to decorate 221B with next Christmas besides just the few light strings Mrs. Hudson keeps tucked away.”

“What a lovely idea, dear. Now, I’m going to go check on the things in the oven, but you all continue opening gifts without me.”

She hustled off to the kitchen. All the Holmes men sat silent, not sure what to do without her presence there.

“Thank you for your gift, Alex,” Sherlock decided to say, setting the box aside.

“You’re welcome,” Alex responded, settling back and waiting for someone to decide who should have the next gift.

The Holmes mother called from the kitchen asking her husband for help. He wandered off leaving the two brothers and Alex.

“I have a present for you actually,” Mycroft muttered, pulling a small parcel out and tossing it over. Sherlock caught it and stared down at the box.

“Oh go on, open it Sherlock!” Alex said, getting up to come climb into Sherlock’s arms. “I’ll help!”

The boy plucked the present from his hands and tore off the paper. Sherlock took the box back and carefully pried it apart to reveal a small selection of folded papers. Scanning them he realized what they were.

“Legal guardianship,” Mycroft said. “All finalized up for you there. I know it’s taken a while, but people did want to be certain.”

“Oh don’t be absurd, _you_ wanted to be certain,” Sherlock muttered. “I know you prolonged it”

“I had to be,” Mycroft sniffed. “Now, there will be one last check in after New Year’s Day, but I thought you might want to get a head start on paperwork. And once done with that, Alex will be yours—so long as you don’t mess things up.”

“I’m really yours now!” Alex gasped.

“You were always mine, brat,” Sherlock said with a smile. “This just makes it official. All those silly rule things grownups like so well. Or at least after these are filled out and filed and all that legal nonsense.”

Alex grinned and wrapped his arms tight for a quick hug. Sherlock didn’t resist and pulled the boy a bit closer, enjoying the simple affection.

“Thank you, Mycroft,” Sherlock managed to say.

“Anything for you, brother dear,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “Now, I’m going to go see if mummy needs any help. I’m not sure how much more sappiness I can take.”

He rose and strolled off towards the kitchen. Alex slid off Sherlock to take Mycroft’s abandoned place on the couch.

“Thanks for a great Christmas, Sherlock,” Alex whispered next to him.

Sherlock turned to stare quizzically at the boy. Then again, he didn’t really know what amounted to a great Christmas considering he didn’t like the holiday at all. He just smiled after a moment and took to staring at the fireplace. His own gift to Alex had been a junior chemistry set. He’d wanted to get an adult one, but Molly had insisted that wasn’t a great idea.

The day dragged on. Mycroft kept complaining throughout, asking why they had to draw out the meal, why couldn’t they just be done with it after gifts. But Mrs. Holmes insisted on sitting them all down to a proper dinner, eating together and then having some drinks in the parlor afterwards while Alex played with his new things. It was late that afternoon that Sherlock had the call.

He checked his phone to see it was Lestrade. He answered immediately, stepping into the other room for minimal privacy.

“What is it?” he asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be off celebrating?”

“I think you’ll want to check the news,” Lestrade suggested. “Yeah, a very merry Christmas this one is.”

“Whatever for?” But Sherlock obeyed and went back to turn on the television, ignoring his mother’s protests as he flipped to a news channel displaying the flaming wreckage of a building. “London school burned to the ground- arson a probably cause.”

“It’s got to be him, Sherlock,” Lestrade muttered.

“Considering that’s Alex’s old school before he moved in with me, I would assume so,” Sherlock said, studying the images for any clues, but it was too far away to get anything. “His love for burning continues to come to the forefront of his crimes.”

“Well, I’ll have a unit take a look at it once we’re told it’s safe. And if you have a chance in the next few days—might not be bad to have you sweep it for clues either.”

“I certainly will,” Sherlock agreed. “Merry Christmas, Lestrade. Stay safe.”

“Definitely,” Lestrade said with a sigh before hanging up.

Sherlock paused as he put the phone aside. He had grabbed the phone Moriarty had left him. He had rare texts on that. The occasional flirtatious creepiness that made Moriarty stand out from other criminals. A few taunts. A few puzzles that had mostly proved themselves pointless. Nonetheless, he fished it out of his pocket. Sure enough, two texts awaited him.

_Not exactly chestnuts roasting, but I thought this was more your style. Liked my present?_

Sherlock frowned and checked the next.

_Also, enjoy your silent night. Hope little Alex likes his present too. ;)_

The detective jerked up to look around the room.

“Where’s Alex?” Sherlock demanded.

“He was playing by the tree, dear,” his mother said. “What’s wrong?”

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft whose eyes had narrowed.

“Moriarty,” he muttered, before moving over towards the tree. Alex was indeed playing to the side of it, or had been. Now he was lying still to the side, No sign of movement from him.

“Alex,” Sherlock said. He moved to kneel by his ward, breathing become hard as he felt some level of panic begin to take him. Normally calmness came so naturally to him, but Alex brought this upon him, these levels of concern.

He rolled Alex over to find his eyes closed, body unnaturally limp. Sherlock’s fingers moved to feel for a pulse. A sigh escaped as he found one, steady and regular. Mycroft had returned with Alex’s glass from earlier. He sniffed at it and dipped a finger into the juice, pulling it back up to take a small taste, grimacing afterwards.

“Mild incapacitating agent,” he muttered. “I would say nothing too harmful. Hard to taste or smell unless you’re looking for it, but it’s not poison.”

“The wine? Any of the other drinks?”

His mother checked those, agreeing they all seemed to be fine. When she found the carton of juice she had to agree that the whole thing had been spiked.

Another text. Sherlock looked at his phone.

_Give sleeping beauty a kiss for me, will you?_

“He targeted Alex,” Sherlock whispered. “Just him.”

“To get to you,” Mycroft reminded him. “That’s the whole point, Sherlock, and you’re letting him.”

“So what do I do?” Sherlock snapped at his brother. “Ignore that Moriarty just attacked Alex under my nose? Ignore the fact that he could have been harmed?”

“You know, I seem to remember someone drugging all of us one Christmas, Alex included,” Mycroft pointed out with a scowl. “Or have you forgotten you also gave Mary something in her tea while Alex was still in the womb.”

“That was different,” Sherlock snapped.

“How? This is a game for him, Sherlock, no different from the little dance you had with Magnusson drugging us to rush off with my laptop. You need to look at this with perspective, not jump into an overemotional reaction. Alex will be fine.”

“What if he’d poisoned him?” Sherlock asked.

“Moriarty has had every opportunity to kill him and hasn’t,” Mycroft pointed out. “If he were to do so he wouldn’t choose a quick slip of poison into his juice. No, better to find a way to watch both you and him suffer. He’s trying to play with your mind, and it is working. Be smarter than that, Sherlock. Don’t give him the pleasure.”

Sherlock finally nodded. Perhaps Mycroft did have a point. With everything that had happened it was easy for him to stop thinking rationally, but he had to. That was always what he’d prided himself on, and now was not the time to stop acting that way. Now more than ever he had to keep a level head. He had to stay strong for Alex, for himself, in order to beat Moriarty he couldn’t think like this.

Sherlock scooped Alex’s limp form up.

“I’m taking him to the bedroom to lie down for a while. I’ll take him home when he’s awake again,” he told his parents.

“Certainly dear,” his mother said. “Don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of him. If you need to run off before he wakes up we’ll look after him.”

“No,” Sherlock said. He looked down at the blank papers Mycroft had given him. “It’s my job now. Now more than ever, I need to be here for him.”


	12. Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a horrible accident occurs, Sherlock is questioned, and he begins to hatch a crazy yet plausible plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Didn’t have much feedback last chapter…but I’m going to go ahead and try out some Sherlolly anyways. If people aren’t feeling it, LET ME KNOW it’s not too late! Thanks to the few who voted.

Alex was groggy the next day, but he did recover quite well from Moriarty’s drugging, much to Sherlock’s relief. After a little rest and recovery he was back to his normal self. A little too back to his normal self, unfortunately, when one of Sherlock’s biggest fears came true.

Sherlock was in the sitting room sipping some tea Mrs. Hudson had brought up, looking over information about other fires in the area, wondering if this was Moriarty’s newest area he should be studying. Everything seemed fine, an average morning to be sure. It was in one long silence in his research that he was interrupted by a crash and a scream from the kitchen.

Sherlock shot out of his seat. He flailed momentarily before looking towards the room the scream had come from, startled to see Alex on the floor with broken glass and liquid surrounding him. Looking up, he quickly noticed what cupboard Alex had been attempting to reach. That meant whatever Alex was sitting in was likely harmful.

“Alex, get up,” Sherlock ordered, coming into the room as best he could, trying to avoid glass and contact with the material. “You need to go to the bathroom, and take off your clothes…” He hesitated. Depending on the compound water might not be as effective as another solution. What had been on the top shelf? What was in that bottle? Based on the amount of shards he was able to determine it was a fairly small bottle. He saw a hint of a green label. That narrowed it down. Something water would be better for then.

“Yes, shower,” Sherlock said, watching Alex rise to his feet unsteadily. The boy was clearly in shock, face pale, staring not only at his hands that were turning a splotchy shade of red, but at the slight bend in his left arm, an obvious break.

“Sherlock.”

There were tears in his eyes. The pain and confusion left him unable to obey the orders, probably not even hearing most of it.

The consulting detective hesitated only a moment before grabbing the kitchen towel, using it to snatch Alex without touching with his bare hands. He rushed Alex through the door to the bathroom, shoving him into the shower and quickly turning it on.

“Take all of your clothes off, Alex. We’ll get you some fresh ones before we go to the hospital,” Sherlock said.

The boy obeyed, though he grimaced a bit trying to work without his dominant arm. He did eventually manage to strip the rest of his clothing off. To Sherlock’s relief it looked as though the worst damage was on his hands.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Sherlock asked.

“I was looking for a good pot to make noodles in,” Alex began, voice chocked as he continued to cry, “so I was standing on the counter to reach the cupboard on top and I opened it and tried to look behind your chemicals, but one started to fall, so I tried to grab it, but I ended up knocking it into the wood of the cupboard, and then my hands really hurt…so I lost my balance and fell. And…” he held up his crooked arm, “I landed badly. It hurts so much, Sherlock.”

“Flush your eyes as well, just in case any sprayed there,” Sherlock ordered. “I’m going to fetch you some clothes before we go to St. Bart’s.”

Alex nodded, but he was still looking quite pale. Sherlock instructed him to sit in the tub while the shower continued to pour down on him and the pile of clothes.

Sherlock quickly went to find Alex some clothes, calling down to Mrs. Hudson and asking her to sit with Alex for a few minutes.

“Not going to call an ambulance, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked after he explained what had happened.

“Alex isn’t in immediate danger, merely some pain. His arm will need to be splinted and his burns treated, possibly some splinters of glass removed. The best thing to do is let him sit in the shower for a bit longer, make sure all of it is washed off before we take him to the hospital. My main concern at the moment is making sure he doesn’t pass out. He looks a little peaky, possibly going into shock.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded her agreement and went to sit with Alex while Sherlock grabbed for clothes, found his phone to call a cab. He helped Alex pull on a loose t-shirt and football shorts after the shower had gone long enough. After toweling him off, Sherlock began to realize he really was getting into a danger zone. The boy had perspiration dotting his upper lip, and he appeared a bit dazed. This after Moriarty’s sick joke on him, Sherlock gritted his teeth as he decided to leave the coat in favor of having one less thing in the doctor’s way when they got him to the emergency department.

Mrs. Hudson insisted on coming along. The only benefit in Sherlock’s mind was that it made sure she didn’t attempt cleaning the kitchen by herself. He’d see to it when he returned home, but in the meantime Alex was more important.

They waited for far too long in that infernal waiting area. Sherlock kept running a hand through Alex’s still wet hair, watching as he seemed to continue to sink into the effects of shock. Thankfully, after what felt like hours but was likely less than thirty minutes, the doctors took Alex in to splint his arm and look at his wounds. Sherlock was left pacing the hall until Mrs. Hudson had him sit down, trying to soothe him with some anecdote about an injury in her childhood.

The only thing that eased him at all was when a figure in a lab coat came strolling down the hall. He perked up instantly, hoping it was news on Alex, only to see it was instead a familiar face. Molly came over to where the two of them were sitting.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Er…I work here?” Molly said with a small smile. “I heard something about acid burns on a little boy, just had a hunch it might be you. Is Alex all right?”

“They insist he’ll be fine,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“Poor little dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Just trying to make some lunch.”

“Do shut up, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock muttered, looking at Molly quizzically. “So you just abandoned your work on a _hunch_ that I might be here?”

“Oh well, I asked someone for the name and confirmed it first. Besides, I’m on break. But I had to come see if you were all right. I was worried about you.”

“That is very kind of you Molly, but as you can see I’m fine. And I believe Alex will be all right as well, none of the burns looked too serious, but he’ll probably have bandages and a cast for a while.”

“Oh it’s no trouble,” Molly said with a bright smile. “I was worried, that’s all. Well, if there’s nothing I can do I’ll go finish some more work. I need to stop by to give Alex his Christmas present sometime. I keep forgetting. Well I’d best go finish up on Mr. Johnson’s corpse.”

Sherlock found himself relaxing for some reason. It was nice to have support with all the stress of the day. He watched Molly walk off, wondering what had possessed her to give up valuable time of her job.

“She’s such a sweet thing,” Mrs, Hudson said. “So nice of her looking out for you and Alex.”

“Hmm,” Sherlock said, not sure what to say to that, though he had to admit it was true. He focused on studying the other people waiting, quickly figuring out what was wrong with them. Not really all that challenging, but something to focus on.

“Mr. Holmes.”

He looked up to see a nurse looking around the room until she spotted him. She gave a fake smile.

“Alex is doing just fine,” she said. “His arm’s been splinted and he’ll come back in a week to get a cast put on. His burns are fortunately not too bad. That was very good thinking on your part in putting him in the shower. We made sure to check for glass, though if he sees any signs of any further problems in the future, make sure to have him checked. It’s possible we might have missed something. Make sure to change the bandages regularly, keep an eye for infection. But overall, he’ll be alright.”

“Good, thank you,” Sherlock said, deciding not to comment on the fact that she was clearly stealing drugs from the hospital.

“Can we see him?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Oh yes, you’ll be able to take him home.”

Mrs. Hudson glanced anxiously at Sherlock before following him to the other room where Alex was sitting on a bed, arm wrapped up tight in a sling, hands covered in white bandages.

Alex looked up at them, but he didn’t smile. Mrs. Hudson went over to sit next to him, asking him how he was feeling and promising to make a nice dinner for him at home. Sherlock finally came over, looking down at his ward.

“Are your hands still hurting?” he asked, clearing his throat to cover the awkwardness of the semi-forced words.

“A bit,” Alex admitted. “Doctors said they might hurt for a while. But it’ll be ok.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “Let’s get you home.”

Back at Baker Street it became apparent the trouble was not over. Sherlock picked Alex up and carried him towards the front door, only to notice the police car parked in front, and the fact that someone had straightened the doorknocker. His eyes narrowed.

“Mrs. Hudson, why don’t I have Alex sit down in your kitchen while you make him something to eat? Does that work for you?”

“Oh I don’t see why he couldn’t lie down on the couch until I can bring him something,” Mrs. Hudson protested.

“I’m afraid we have visitors. I’d rather not have Alex see this.”

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson said, glancing fretfully at the police car.

“Indeed.”

Sherlock walked through the door towards the kitchen and set Alex down at a chair. He looked him over, a bit concerned to see he looked a bit dazed again. “I’ll be back in a bit. Be good for Mrs. Hudson.”

“As if he would be anything but,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You just sit there, I’ll make you something to eat. Why don’t we get you some water in the meantime? Something to hydrate you up again.”

Sherlock ventured back towards the stairs, walking up them slowly, already aware who and what he’d find, but not wanting to face it. He was unsurprised to see Mycroft in the sitting room, Lestrade chatting with him casually.

“Well, I’d best be off,” Lestrade muttered. “Come on, Anderson.”

Sherlock shot him a glare before turning it full force on Mycroft.

“Hello, little brother, back from the hospital?”

“I suppose I should have known you’d do something like that,” Sherlock sighed. “Still, it seems low even for you, having a note in mine and Alex’s medical files to contact you.”

Mycroft offered a wry smile. “But of course.”

“I didn’t clean up the kitchen,” Sherlock said.

“Anderson and Lestrade both wore gloves. I wouldn’t worry too much about them. They cleaned the area fairly well, though I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will want to double check. But of course, the main issue we should be discussing is this.”

He lifted a small bag Sherlock had almost forgotten about. He’d tucked it away ages ago which Mycroft could probably tell based on the dust on it. But of course that didn’t matter.

“Drugs. I thought you would have known better, Sherlock, than to leave this lying around as a prospective guardian.”

“You said if I used again he’d be taken away, not if I had some in my possession,” Sherlock pointed out, though he could feel his heart beginning to race.

“Well, after the boy was splashed with acid and taken to the hospital, I’m not so sure if that’s all I can say anymore,” Mycroft said. “I warned you that one more checkup was coming. And do be sure I’ll be passing on my recommendations to the social worker.”

“I won’t allow him to be taken away from me,” Sherlock growled. “I made a mistake not watching him for a few minutes, but you can hardly fault me for that. I’ve been clean as long as I’ve had him, and I don’t intend to use anytime soon _unless_ you pull him from my care. Then I will have _nothing_ to live for, Mycroft. He’s all I have left of John. I was entrusted with his care and I will keep it.”

Mycroft studied him just a moment and then sighed. “I’m confiscating these. I will give what information I see fit to the social worker, who should be here in the next few days. She will make the final decision.”

“I swear to you, Mycroft, if she takes him away I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Don’t be melodramatic, Sherlock. I’m sure whatever she decides will be for the best, for both you and Alexander. Consider that why don’t you. Not everything is about you, brother dear.”

He walked towards the door. Sherlock stood frozen, trying his best to figure out how to proceed. Think, think, think. There had to be a way to ensure Alex stayed with him. And he needed to find it, soon.

* * *

 

The social worker arrived a few days later. Sherlock showed her into the flat, more clean than it had ever been before. Both he and Alex had been dressing nicely for the last few days, and thankfully both looked quite presentable. Sherlock welcomed the woman in, offering her a seat and a cup of tea.

“So, I must ask about the accident last week,” she said, eyeing Alex’s bandages and splint.

“Yes, so unfortunate. Alex was climbing up in a cabinet looking for a pot for me. I had no idea he was going to go to such lengths to find one…I’d stashed my chemicals up there hoping they would be out of the way, and therefore not be a danger to him. It was my fault, and I take responsibility for it.”

He saw her scowl of disapproval. She scribbled something down. After a few more questions she asked if Alex could be sent to his room so they could talk alone.

“Mr. Holmes, if you want my honest opinion,” she began, “I’ll say that you are not adequate enough as a single parent. Now, I don’t deny this was the parent’s wish, or that Alex has seemed quite happy here and in general under good health, but I’ve examined school records and found you’ve been late to a point where Alex is almost risking suspension. His teachers say he does good work but occasionally comes unprepared. Apparently a few weeks back he didn’t have a coat?”

Her scowl was dangerous. Sherlock could sense it, especially as she pushed her glasses up her nose and then crossed her arms.

Sherlock looked at her, took in the small gold cross necklace, the cardigan that had been buttoned all the way up, the long skirt and stockings. He’d seen it before, but it was obvious now to him that this woman was set in her traditional ways, and that the best means of convincing her was to move towards a more…traditional approach. Something appropriate. Something that would put her more at ease. Something that would make up for her disgust at his experiments and his general sloppiness and his lack of punctuality…

Well, a suggestion of change, a suggestion of a sense of reform and repentance. But how to do so convincingly? His track record was standing against him. Could he lie about joining some kind of program or a church or something like that? Would those things please her? His attempts at cleaning up this last week might have helped, but she needed more of a sense of real change coming. His eyes caught on her wedding ring, and a crazy yet plausible idea came to him. Sherlock smiled.

“I know, I know, I’ve been a bit scatterbrained,” Sherlock admitted. “And I agree it’s been a problem. But all that will change soon. With everything going on I haven’t had time lately to put in the hours I wanted to. I know now being a single parent is the most…challenging occupation a person can have. And I am thankful that I will no longer have to bear this burden alone…considering my fiancée has agreed to move in soon now that we’re properly engaged.”

He peered at her cautiously, trying to maintain a smile even as he awaited her reaction to his manipulation.

It was possible she might not like that, but marriage was taking it too far so engagement was the best he could do. Sherlock watched her expressions, making out a hint of surprise.

“Really? A fiancée? It’s true, that would lessen some of your work. This woman likes Alex too?”

“Oh of course,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “She adores him and Alex thinks she’s wonderful and won’t stop asking about when we’re getting married. We’re both so excited. We’ve just been trying to figure out logistics of course, now that we have a proper ring on place I don’t feel bad moving in together. We discussed moving into her place, but I couldn’t leave Baker Street. So she’ll come here…give the bachelor pad a little…woman’s touch,” Sherlock said, trying and failing to keep away a grimace at the thought.

“Sounds like a lovely idea,” the woman said, glancing around the room, eyeing the smiley face and skull in particular. Sherlock could already picture doilies on the table and pink pillows on the couch. He shuddered.

“I’m sure with the extra help things will run much smoother. And I did promise to get rid of my chemicals, especially with what happened to Alex. She wouldn’t hear of me having dangerous things around. And I love her enough to compromise.”

“Well, Mr. Holmes, you didn’t strike me as the marrying type, but I’ll give you my congratulations. I think this sounds like a nice development. I will likely need to make one more visit, though, to see if this does produce a positive change. When is she moving in?”

Sherlock froze, but he knew this bluff might take a little work. Pulling it off might be tough, but he’d find a way.

“Oh sometime in the next month I believe,” Sherlock answered briskly. “I could give you a call if you’d like, after she’s settled. I really do believe this will be a turning point for all of us.”

“It sounds like it. Marriage does wonderful things for a family,” the woman said, beaming at him. “And really no child should be denied a proper mother.”

Sherlock did his best to produce a smile, even as he thought about how Alex had gone more than a full year without a mother and had been mostly fine. Mrs. Hudson mothered him enough, honestly, he didn’t really see the point.

“Well, I’ll give you a call, don’t you worry,” Sherlock promised. “Now, unless there’s anything else, Alex and I were hoping to go to the park this afternoon.”

“Fresh air, that will do him some good. Well, I’ll check up on the two—soon to be three of you in the next month hopefully.”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock said, walking her to the door. Once she was gone he heard footsteps on the stairs before Alex came tearing down, jaw dropping as he stared at his guardian.

“What are you _doing_!” Alex said. “You don’t have a fiancée?”

“No,” Sherlock admitted. “I don’t. But she doesn’t know that.”

“But what about the next checkup?” Alex asked, staring at him. “What are you going to do?’

“I’m going to…figure something out,” Sherlock said, staring off at the wall in thought. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll make it work.”

Alex bit his lip. “You’re going to get in trouble for lying, and then they’re really going to take me away. You can’t do this, Sherlock. Where are you going to find a fiancée in a month?”

“I’ll find someone,” he said. “Eavesdropper. Now, why don’t I get you some lunch so we’re in good habits either way,” Sherlock said, hoping the subject of food would convince Alex to drop the issue. Based on the way his eyes lit up at the mention, he suspected his guess was correct.

He walked off to the kitchen, mind already reeling on possibilities. Why, the answer was quite obvious. It merely involved a ring, a nice dinner, and a certain lovely woman…one he already had a good hunch on asking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Little author speech on research so no one can criticize me for not doing it-
> 
> On St. Bart’s- well…after I wrote this section I thought about looking up the hospital. Turns out there’s no emergency department. Whoops. But I didn’t want to rewrite it because I liked Molly making an appearance. Anyhow, no scolding me for not knowing my stuff, this just worked better with the story. However, you can laugh at my legal guardianship nonsense because I don’t know much about that…but I figure Mycroft is practically the British government, so he’s likely pulling a lot of strings on the whole thing.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock goes on a date, poses an important question, and tries to decide if he's doing the right thing.

Alex sat watching him anxiously on the bed. He’d refused to leave when Sherlock had told him he needed to get ready, so the detective had eventually just allowed him to stay and observe as Sherlock straightened up his bowtie and looked himself over in the mirror.

“How do I look?” he asked, turning towards the boy.

Alex chewed his lip. “Good. Like James Bond or something. You look—smart.”

Sherlock glanced down at the suit. It was true, he was a bit dressed up. But he’d promised the dinner would be at a nice place, so he needed to look the part.

“Well, Mrs. Hudson promised to look after you. I’ll try to be back before you want to be tucked in,” Sherlock said, as he straightened his collar for the fifth time.

“Sherlock, are you seriously going to do this?” Alex said with a sigh.

“Hmm?” He turned to glance at the boy, raising a brow curiously.

“Are you really going to get engaged just so you can keep me?” he asked. He’d gone back to biting his lip again. That old bad habit popping up. At least they’d broken the thumb sucking.

“I’d do anything to keep you,” Sherlock admitted.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Alex said. “But I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Sherlock shrugged. He offered one last look to his reflection and then turned away. Alex followed in his footsteps. Sherlock decided to just ignore the boy, since the anxiety radiating off of him seemed annoying, not something he wanted to deal with right now.

Mrs. Hudson met them both on the ground floor, ushering Alex into the kitchen for his meal.

“You enjoy your date, Sherlock,” she said with a beaming smile.

“I’ll try,” Sherlock promised, before stalking off to the door.

He arrived at the restaurant with five minutes to spare. He walked in and handed over his coat before allowing a waiter to lead him to his table. Once in place, he accepted a menu, looking over wine orders, even as his mind wandered, fingers moving to tap on the table’s surface as he rehearsed his lines in his mind again. This shouldn’t be too hard, just saying the right things and it would all be over, right?

He had to set the menu aside though as he saw his date approaching. He rose to his feet to pull back her chair, taking the time to look over the changes in her normally more plain appearance.

“Sorry I’m late,” Molly said, twisting her handbag as she sat down.

Sherlock looked over her, admiring the dark blue of her dress that seemed to compliment her pale skin. She’d put her hair up emphasizing the fineness of her features, giving her a sense of delicacy and elegance as well. Her makeup was light, her lips pink instead of the red he remembered so vividly at the Christmas party all those years ago. She’d put some time in, but not so much he felt uncomfortable with the implications.

“Do you have a preference on wine?” Sherlock asked her.

“Oh, no worries, I’m happy with most anything,” Molly said.

“Alright,” Sherlock said, scanning the list again before settling on a selection. “Well, hopefully you’ll like what I pick. In the meantime, I wanted to say you…look lovely.”

“Oh thank you,” Molly said, reaching up to touch her hair. “This is a very nice place, I’m glad I tried to spruce up a bit. Thought about coming straight from Bart’s but thankfully when you mentioned the place I checked and it looked nicer so I thought I’d try—I’m rambling aren’t I? Sorry I’ll shut up a bit. How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” Sherlock said. “I’m, yes… how was…work?”

“Fine,” Molly said, setting her handbag to the side and reaching to pick up a menu. “Is Alex doing any better?”

“His burns are healing, and I’m going to take him in for his cast sometime tomorrow.” Sherlock glanced around for the waiter, wondering how long this whole small talk thing was going to last. When should he pop the question? Was there a right moment to do it? John had done it before they even ordered. Hmm…

“So, is this just a thank you for babysitting or something?” Molly asked, glancing around and then back at Sherlock. Her smile faltered for a minute.

“Oh, no…it’s er…I hoped you’d see this as a er…a date.” Sherlock folded his hands and peered at her, doing his best to appear sincere.

Molly stared at him momentarily. “Sorry, I just…it’s been a long day. Did you say…date?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I thought it was high time we…went on a date together.”

Molly sat dumbstruck for a moment, pulled from her daze only by a waiter appearing to take their orders. She offered a quick apology to him, scanned the menu and soon found what she wanted. She apologized yet again as he took their menus and was off. After that she turned back to Sherlock.

“I just…you’ve never wanted to go on a date before,” Molly said. “Are…is this…?” She trailed off, simply continuing to stare at him, blinking a few times as though wondering if it was real.

“Because,” Sherlock said, reaching over to put his hand on hers, causing her to jump slightly and then gradually relax, still staring at him. “Because you, Molly, are the most lovely woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You are a talented pathologist, a wonderful helper, and above all a loving and kind friend. You’ve seen me in my darkest times; you’ve helped me through them. You faked my death with me, have gone to great lengths to be there when I needed you. And I am grateful. Grateful enough that I recognize I cannot simply allow you to slip away. I need you, Molly Hooper. I’ve always needed you. And I don’t want to go on living without you at my side.”

Sherlock paused and drew the small box from his pocket, pulling open the lid to reveal a simple yet elegant diamond ring, catching the light and gleaming. Molly’s hand came up to her mouth as her eyes widened, staring down at the small, yet extremely significant, piece of jewelry.

The detective moved out of his chair, coming to kneel beside, her.

“Would you, Molly Charity Hooper,” he began, grateful for Google that had been so helpful in granting him access to her middle name in an old school record, “make me the happiest man alive and be my…w-wife?” he grimaced at the word, but nonetheless managed to give a small smile.

She sat there simply staring at the ring, no words coming from her parted lips. Sherlock shifted a bit uncomfortably on the one knee, wondering how long it was customary to wait before getting up again. Wasn’t she supposed to answer? Why wasn’t she answering? Wasn’t she delighted?

Her hand descended from her mouth, put she still hadn’t spoken. The two waited, even as people around them began to notice and point.

“Get up,” Molly said after a minute. “And sit down.”

Sherlock rose and took his seat again, mind reeling as he considered the possibilities. Had he done something wrong? He had thought the speech was rather nice—pulled from a blog of course with a few replacements of sections with his own personal details…though it still had a nice sound to it.

“What do you want?” Molly said, looking up at him, frowning, a hint of tears in her eyes.

“I thought I just made that fairly obvious,” Sherlock said, raising a brow. “I’m asking for your hand in mar—”

“You hate marriage,” Molly said. “You equate it with murder. And we’re not even dating. So you’re doing this to get something. What is it? I’m happy to help, but I don’t want you doing… _this_ …to try to manipulate me. I may like you, but I’m not stupid, Sherlock. So, what is it?”

Sherlock sighed, reaching up to rub his temple, contemplating lying. The probability of her catching on seemed high. So he opted for the truth.

“I need to find a fiancée within the next month,” Sherlock said. “They’re threatening to take Alex away from me.”

Molly gasped and stared at him. “Really? Because of the accident?”

“Combination of things,” Sherlock sighed. “But yes, mostly the accident. Also my brother finding some drugs in my flat.”

“What?” Molly said. “Sherlock, you know better!”

“They’re old, I haven’t used since Alex has been in my care. But finding them was enough for Mycroft to become convinced that it would be better if I don’t retain legal guardianship. The social worker agrees, but when I mentioned having a fiancée—well she changed her tune. She knows Alex is happiest with me, but I can’t do it as a single parent, I need someone else.”

“And I’m your choice?” Molly said, she folded her arms.

The detective took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. The waiter had returned with their food, setting the first course in front of them. Sherlock looked down at his soup before glancing back up to meet her eyes, waiting until the server had left again to begin talking.

“Molly, what I am looking for is a complicated combination,” he pointed out. “I need a woman who is aware of the fact that I already have a child, who wants children of her own, one who potentially has already met and likes Alex fairly well.”

“Right,” she said.

“I also need a woman who cares about me, in spite of all my terrible flaws, in spite of being an arse. A woman who knows I’m arrogant and selfish and frustrating. I need someone who is willing to see my good qualities, who genuinely cares about me and wants to look out for me.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Someone who is willing to overlook all those things. Yes, I suppose that would be me, wouldn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded. “And, of course, I would prefer said person to be someone I care about too.”

Molly stared at him for a moment, and he could again see hints of tears. He hoped she wouldn’t start crying, honestly, they’d had enough attention at their table for one night.

“You, Molly Hooper, are the only woman I know who fits all of those qualities and more,” he said. “If you say no I have no one. They’ll take Alex away…I…”

She reached out a hand to touch his sitting on the table, preventing him from continuing. They sat for a moment like that, her simply touching him, looking into his eyes. Sherlock wondered if he should just apologize and suggest actually eating their food. Perhaps that was the better alternative…but then again, the look in Molly’s eyes gave him the idea that she wasn’t as opposed as she’d initially sounded.

“I understand,” Molly said. “I know how much you care about him. He’s been really good for you in some ways. And I’m sure it would be hard to find someone, especially so last minute.” She let out a long sigh, looking down at her untouched food. “This is like something out of a dream…I…all these years I wanted this, and now when it happens it’s all wrong. It’s not because you want me or…well…it’s just because you need me… I don’t know what to say, Sherlock. I’d given up on you in some ways. Resigned myself to being a spinster cat lady and all that.”

She smiled and looked up, even as a single tear trickled down her cheek. Sherlock shifted a bit, wondering if he should say something or let her continue. She spoke before he could think of anything to say.

“I don’t know if I can just say yes to something like this. I may not have a lot of self-esteem, but I have enough to not want to settle for a man who merely…wants me to keep his son. I just don’t know, Sherlock.”

“Molly,” Sherlock interrupted. “I want you to know this doesn’t have to be a fast thing…we can go on a few dates like normal people would. We can see if this seems to be working… If nothing else we could fake it…move a few things of yours into my place, have you there when the social worker comes by. It wouldn’t be ideal, but I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want. I’m amenable to not making this real. I want to accommodate you and whatever you need in this. But at the same time I’m not really…opposed…to making it real. Besides…engagements can go on for a long while can’t they?”

Molly gave a half smile. “When you say it like that…I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try, would it? And I do want you to keep Alex. He’s wonderful. He’s brought out the humanness in you, just like John did. I’d love to be a mother to him too, but only if I can be a wife…or girlfriend to you too. I’m not doing this just for him. It would be for both of you.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched, a smile playing there. “I used to think I would never like the idea of something so domestic as marriage…or children…being a father, being a husband. And while I’m still not sure on the latter, I’ve found over the last few years that I rather like having a…well a family. I have a suspicion I’d find I rather like having you too.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly said, even as a few more tears escaped, though she was smiling. She reached for the box suddenly, tugging out the ring and sliding it onto her own finger. “Yes. My answer is yes. For trying at least. We can see how it goes…maybe things will turn out alright.”

“I’m delighted,” Sherlock said. “Really. However, I think if we keep chatting our food is going to go cold. It probably already has, actually. Shall we eat and discuss more later?”

“I think that’s a fine idea,” Molly said, reaching for her fork, the ring glittering beautifully as she did. Sherlock examined it for a minute, thinking on the implications of what he’d just done. He couldn’t deny the sight of it made him a tad nervous, but at the same time, Molly’s warm smile eased him some. Perhaps, as with adopting Alex, everything would turn out all right.

* * *

 

Late that evening he returned back to 221 B, having spent an hour after dinner talking with Molly about how they wanted to proceed. She’d asked to have a few more dates first, but did agree if nothing else she’d be there for the social worker and play the part. Feeling somewhat comforted, he’d kissed her cheek to bid her farewell, heading off to keep his promise of tucking Alex in.

Mrs. Hudson was waiting for him on the sofa when he came in. Alex looked up from his chair, smiled and bounded over. Sherlock caught him easily, scooping him up in a well practiced move. The boy peered at him quizzically, but appeared to relax a little on seeing his smile.

“Oh, how was it, dear? Everything go smoothly?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “You’ll be quite happy to know I’m engaged…at least for the moment.”

“Engaged!” Mrs. Hudson stared at him. “Oh Sherlock, how wonderful! I hadn’t realized it was that serious. What’s his name, dear?”

Alex turned to shoot her a look, brows furrowed.

“It’s Molly Hooper, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said with a sigh.

“Molly Hooper!” the woman said, letting out a high pitched laugh. “Oh you and John both just decided to change things up a bit, didn’t you?”

“Why does Mrs. Hudson think you were with a bloke, and why’s she saying you and my dad changed things up?” Alex whispered in his ear.

“Well, I’m going to take this one to bed,” Sherlock said. “Thank you again, Mrs. Hudson. Delightful of you to watch him for me.”

“Of course dear. Oh, Molly Hooper! Too delightful. You won’t be moving out, will you?”

“Certainly not, she’ll be moving in,” Sherlock said. “Goodnight, Mrs. Hudson.”

She went out the door still laughing, even as Sherlock carried Alex upstairs to bed.

“Sherlock, why’d she say that?” Alex asked again.

“Mrs. Hudson was always under the false impression that your father and I were dating,” Sherlock said, deciding nothing but the truth would do. “She was very surprised when your father married your mother. Couldn’t seem to believe it, in fact. Anyhow, I suppose it’s the same for me.”

Alex cocked his head. “But you and my dad didn’t date, did you?”

“No, nothing like that. We were flatmates and partners in solving crimes. That’s it,” Sherlock said, setting the boy down on his bed after moving the blankets out of the way.

“Did Molly really say yes?” Alex asked.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock said. “What else would she say?”

Alex shrugged. “So she’ll move in with us. Will she bring Toby?”

“I’d imagine so,” Sherlock said, having forgotten the detail of Molly owning a cat. He supposed that would make sense though.

Alex grinned at that, even as he allowed Sherlock to pull the blankets up over him. The detective paused a moment, looking down at Alex.

“You approve of my choice then?”

“Yes,” Alex said. “Molly’s great. I’m glad she said yes.”

“Me too,” Sherlock admitted. “Alright, now get some sleep.”

“I’ll try,” Alex said with a smile. “You get some too.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock said and then shrugged. He leaned over and kissed Alex’s forehead once, a small habit he’d acquired in tucking the boy in, not that he did it every night. Still, it felt right somehow. Not good to starve the child of affection, he supposed.

“Love you, Sherlock,” the boy said.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

He walked to the door, considering a moment as he did. Sherlock Holmes…a father…a fiancé…readying himself to go on further dates before moving a woman into his home and his life with her cat. He’d never have thought it possible before. But now…in the moment…it just might work. The door to Alex’s bedroom door closed, and Sherlock went back downstairs, deciding to enjoy a night of remaining bachelorhood working late on a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Sherlolly begins! Difficult for me as I'm usually a Johnlock shipper, of course, but I think it went alright. Feel like Sherlock's growing more and more OOC, but hey that kind of happens in a fic about him being a caring person. Anyhow, feedback is great, but please just keep it kind. I’ll say this—if you don’t have anything constructive to add in a criticism…you might as well not post it. If you don’t like this story, that’s great, but let me know what would help change your mind or just don’t read. To those who've given me positives or constructive stuff, thanks so much!
> 
> Anyhow, until next time, thanks to all of you out there! -elsarenard


	14. Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock tries to figure out dating, goes to the zoo, and has an interesting encounter with his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: suggestive material, discussions about sex, nothing explicit…merely implied (sorry for those wanting smut…it’s not happening).

Dating. Sherlock had sneered at other people’s attempts at romantic attachments before, mocked John’s romantic emails and all of that nonsense. But when he showed up on Molly Hooper’s doorstep with some roses (Mrs. Hudson had bought them, so he’d been forced to bring them), he had to admit this was a challenge.

Perhaps this was how most normal people felt about thinking. That was the only possible parallel Sherlock could draw as he tried to find suitable small talk, struggled to figure out how to carry on with Molly at his side. When was it appropriate to kiss her? Should he kiss her? Did he want to? Did she want to? So many questions were bouncing around in his mind, and deduction was only getting him so far.

The only good thing was, Molly seemed to figure out he was uncomfortable, and she soon was suggesting things to him, trying to make his life easier.

On things to do for their dates—going to the cinema was one of her first comprising of an awful attempt at mystery that was far too obvious for his tastes. But she slid her hand into one of his during the film, and the feel of her smaller fingers wrapped in his was surprisingly comforting.

On what to talk about—mostly she stuck with work, but she was good at coming up with interesting questions about his experiments or crimes he had looked at recently, and she soon learned to not wait for him to ask her about things, she’d just tell him. Though occasionally her chatter grew a bit tiresome, Sherlock was learning to appreciate her boldness in being willing to open herself up.

On when to kiss—thank god. Sherlock didn’t think he could handle trying to figure it out himself. So one night when he dropped her off home, she told him she’d had a nice time and asked if he wanted to kiss her. He’d complied, and again, found it a bit better than he’d expected.

On how to handle Alex—that was probably the best of it. Sherlock was so wrapped up in making sure he did well with dating Molly, but she reminded him they weren’t the only ones who needed to adjust.

“Maybe we ought to do our next date with the three of us,” Molly suggested. She leaned back on the couch, sipping a little more of the wine Sherlock had brought.

“And what would you suggest we do?” Sherlock asked, blinking a few times at the idea.

“I was thinking we could go to the zoo actually,” Molly said.

“The zoo? Staring at animals in cages,” Sherlock muttered. “And the point of doing such a thing is?”

“To entertain a little boy. Provide bonding time and all that,” Molly said with a smile. “Sherlock, don’t you ever take him out to do things? You know, normal things?’

“I take him to school. And to his football matches and all that…I even go to them since Mrs. Hudson insisted. I took him to a crime scene once, but Lestrade said that was too dangerous, so we didn’t repeat it. I’ve taken him out for food when Mrs. Hudson isn’t willing to cook…taken him to his aunt’s…taken him to the A and E for his cast.”

Molly started laughing and he had to stop.

“What’s so funny?” he asked. “What have I said that you find so utterly hilarious?”

“Sherlock, he’s a little boy,” Molly said with a smirk.

“So?”

“So, little boys like to do fun things? You know, enjoy an outing from time to time? Change things up?” She gazed at him quizzically. “None of that’s ringing any bells for you then is it?”

“I’ve taken him to the park from time to time. When he begs me usually. I don’t really see the point.”

“The point isn’t for you, it’s for him. And it would be a good excuse for him to get used to us being together,” Molly said.

“I’m not worried about that, he likes you quite well,” Sherlock said with a sigh. He lifted his own wine glass to take a swallow.

“He likes me quite well as Molly, your friend and his babysitter. Stepmother is another thing altogether.”

Sherlock again didn’t see the distinction, but he agreed that if Molly thought it was best to take Alex out then they’d do so.

Sure enough, Alex was a picture of excitement when the three of them arrived. He wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down, though he had taken Molly’s hand, his burns clearly healed up nicely by that point so that the movement didn’t hurt him. Sherlock gave Molly a look indicating that she ought not to have worried. Alex was clearly fine with the whole arrangement.

“Can we see the lions first?” he asked her.

“Of course,” Molly replied. “We can try to see as much as you’d like.”

Alex beamed at her. Sherlock wondered for a moment if Molly had just replaced him as Alex’s new hero.

Sherlock, again, didn’t feel sure what he wanted to really do. Thankfully, Molly grabbed for his hand as well, pulling him along after the overly excited boy.

“Look at him,” Alex said, pointing at the biggest male lion. “He looks like Aslan!”

“Yes he does!” Molly said. “Do you like _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , Alex?”

“Yeah they’re my favorite,” Alex said with a smile. “I wish animals could really talk in our world.”

Sherlock shot him a confused look. “What nonsense are you talking about now?”

“Just a book,” Alex said. “You wouldn’t like it.”

Sherlock was unable to restrain a small pout, especially as Molly and Alex went back to talking about the strange book without him, something about wardrobes and witches and other nonsense.

He really did try to keep his snarky remarks to a minimum. But it was hard. A “bored” did escape at one point, causing Molly to elbow him and shoot him a glare.

“Zoology is a very valuable science,” Molly hissed at one point.

“So?”

“So, teaching Alex about different animals is valuable to his scientific education. Surely you of all people would appreciate that.”

Sherlock shrugged, and went back to watching Alex at the window to the gorilla exhibit, staring in at the animals with awe in his expression. He did seem to be enjoying himself at least.

“Molly, can we go see the bugs now?” he asked, coming over and holding out his arms. Molly laughed and scooped him up.

“Of course, let’s go see those bugs.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but followed after his new fiancée without a fuss. Some annoyances were worth putting up with, or at least he was beginning to feel that way as he watched Alex’s ever growing smile. At least he was happy. Now how long did these ridiculous outings last?

Four hours was the answer. Alex had spent four hours going about looking at all the animals, asking for treats at one point that Molly gladly bought for him. She clearly was going to spoil Alex, but with all the chiding Mrs. Hudson gave him, he was aware he did the same.

Molly started insisting Alex spend more time with them after that. She came over and cooked dinner one night. And while it wasn’t as good as Mrs. Hudson’s cooking, it was decent. Alex especially seemed to enjoy it.

And one evening they stayed in and watched a film together. Sherlock pretty much spoiled the ending for them all, but Alex only gave him a glare and climbed into Molly’s lap. Besides, it didn’t matter since he fell asleep before the end anyways.

“Should I wake him up?” Molly asked, looking down at the sleeping boy with a smile.

“I can carry him up to bed,” Sherlock suggested. He carefully scooped Alex out of her arms and carried him towards the stairs. Molly followed along to help by opening Alex’s door for him and pulling back the covers. Sherlock set Alex down and allowed Molly to tuck him in. The boy’s eyes opened a bit, blinking blearily up at the two of them.

“Goodnight, Alex,” Molly whispered.

“Goodnight, Molly. Night Sherlock,” he replied with a soft yawn before his eyes closed again.

The two of them made their way downstairs. Molly stood at the next set of stairs, looking towards Sherlock meaningfully. He frowned and looked around, wondering what was keeping her from leaving.

“If…you’d like…Is Alex a heavy sleeper?”

“Quite,” Sherlock said. “Why?”

“Because, if you’re not worried about him coming down for any reason…we could…well…only if you’d want to… I honestly don’t care either way. I understand you might not…I mean people have said before you’re well…asexual…”

Sherlock caught on. “Oh. Sex. Um…if you’d like.”

Molly offered a shy smile, pushing hair back behind her ear. “Only if you want to.”

“Er…yes…why not.”

Molly took his hand and led him back towards his bedroom. Sherlock was extremely glad he’d thought to tuck the jar of tongues into one of his drawers rather than leaving it on the nightstand. He stood there nervously as Molly shut and locked the door. She turned to him with a light smile.

“It’s alright. We don’t have to, Sherlock,” Molly whispered, coming over to put a hand on his chest, her mouth moving closer to press a light kiss to his lips.

“No, I’d like to. I…you’re a very…I…”

“Shhh,” she whispered, placing more soft kisses. “No need to talk. Let me just take care of you. It’ll be alright.”

Finding himself with nothing intelligent to say, Sherlock promptly shut up and let her lead, deciding he’d settle for using actions rather than words.

 

* * *

 

He woke with her head on his chest, finding himself more relaxed than he normally was in bed. The clock next to his bed read 7:12. He sighed and let his head rest back on the pillow again, admiring the way Molly’s hair looked spread out around her on the bed and his chest. It was so soft. One hand reached to run through it softly, causing Molly to twist a little, eyes blinking open.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Morning,” she said with a yawn. She sat up and glanced at the clock. “Oh golly, I should be going.”

“Work?”

“Oh no, I just…I figured we didn’t want to have Alex see us…” She slid out of bed and grabbed for her pants. Sherlock managed to lean up and grab her arm.

“No, it’s fine,” he reassured her. “Stay, we’ll have breakfast or something.”

“Sherlock, I don’t know that it’s appropriate…well for me to…for us…for…”

“Molly, we’re engaged and if we move in together this will be regular thing,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Besides, if you recall…someone talked me into telling Alex storks bring babies rather than giving him any clue what went on with us last night.”

Molly smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. I suppose that’s true. See, I knew there was a reason to tell him that.”

“Clearly,” Sherlock said with a half-smile. “Come back to bed for a few more minutes. We don’t need to worry about Alex.”

Molly slid back in beside him, letting out a sigh as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her again.

“Besides, it’s Mrs. Hudson you have to worry about,” Sherlock said with a smirk. “And she’s been up an hour already. No getting past this awkwardness.”

“Lovely. And I’m guessing I’ll have to go ask her for something for breakfast too.”

Sherlock didn’t answer that. Last he remembered the only thing he’d bought was milk…and that had probably been more than a month ago.

“So, did you enjoy…well…I hope it was adequate enough for you,” Sherlock muttered.

Molly shot him a strange look. “You can deduce if people have happy marriages or not, you can tell where people have been by the mud on their boots, but you can’t tell if I enjoyed sex or not?’

“Oh…well…you seemed to…but I know things like that can be…well…faked,” Sherlock said putting particular emphasis on the last word.

Molly laughed and cuddled in closer. “It wasn’t, I promise. I rather liked it. And what about you?”

“Interesting. Better than I’d expected actually.”

“I’m not sure if I should think of that as a compliment or not,” Molly said with a soft giggle.

“It was.”

“Sherlock…were you…I mean had you done this before?”

“A little experimenting as a hormone ridden teenager, but not much. That was around the time I figured out I wasn’t much drawn to the idea of sex…”

“Oh…so you are asexual,” Molly asked, her eyes flickering off the side. “I’m sorry if it felt like I pressured you. I really didn’t mean for—”

“No,” Sherlock interrupted her. “It was lovely, and I would have told you no if I truly was uncomfortable. No…I’m…well I don’t really know what I am and I tend to find labels often just don’t work as well with human behavior as one would like them to. Some might label me as demisexual…grey-A…essentially I’m not traditionally drawn to the idea of sex, but I have experienced interest in it before…especially around people I share a strong emotional attachment to,” Sherlock sighed. “It’s complicated and I don’t know that we need to dice it out, unless you’d like to.”

“Oh no, as long as you know you can always tell me no,” Molly said.

“I know these things are expected in a relationship though,” Sherlock said. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly gave him a sad smile. “I’ve been single long enough I can take care of myself. Don’t you worry about me.”

He was about to reply when a noise came to his attention.

There was a knock at the door suddenly. And then a male’s voice calling for Sherlock. The consulting detective groaned and sat up.

“Who’s that?” Molly asked.

“My brother,” Sherlock muttered.

“What?” she gasped, sitting upright.

“Stay here, I’ll handle this,” he muttered. He grabbed for one of the sheets, wrapping it around himself before heading out to the living room to find Mycroft standing looking out the window, fist curled on his umbrella.

“Mycroft,” he said.

The other man spun and gave a grimace on seeing Sherlock undressed. He strolled over to one of the chairs and had a seat.

“Ah, awake, good,” Mycroft said. “I have an important meeting this morning, but I thought I’d pop in before. You see…I had a chat with your social worker. Was curious why she’d elected to leave Alex here after everything that had happened. I was considering telling her about those drugs after all, when suddenly she sees fit to tell me that with your new fiancée she couldn’t say no just yet. And I had to say I was most…surprised…my own little brother getting engaged.”

“Yes, well we’ll send you an invitation to the wedding when we’re good and ready,” Sherlock muttered. “Until then I was just waiting for the appropriate time to phone you up and tell you the news. Mummy and daddy too of course.”

Mycroft scowled. “Your lies will cost you even more, don’t you realize that? Are you really so stupid to think a silly little scheme like this would work?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Proving how stupid I am. Showing me how I can’t possibly care for a child. Proving me wrong as always,” Sherlock growled.

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock, all I want is what’s best for you. And having a child here is not in your best interest. I let you have your fun, enjoy your little _experiment_ , but this must end. And your lies will do nothing for that. So, I’m here to tell you to start helping Alex pack up. Someone will be over to collect him first thing in the morning.”

“He’s not going _anywhere_ ,” Sherlock snapped, stamping his foot.

“No? If you don’t, I’ll have him taken by force,” Mycroft said. He lifted up a hand and examined his cuticles. “So please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”

“Mycroft for god’s sake get out of my flat. _Now_ ,” Sherlock shouted.

Mycroft said nothing. “Do you understand, Sherlock?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to yell again, only to hear footsteps. He looked over his shoulder to see Molly, clothed though looking a bit rumpled, hair still down and unbrushed.

“I was just going to make some coffee. Would either of you like some?”

“Black, two sugars,” Sherlock muttered. “Sorry we woke you with our arguing, _darling_.”

“Oh it’s alright, _dear_ ,” Molly said with a brilliant smile. “And anything for you?” she looked meaningfully at Mycroft.

The older Holmes had his mouth slightly ajar in a rather undignified manner. He was staring at Molly, clearly making the obvious deductions as he looked her over, before glancing back at Sherlock.

“I don’t believe you’ve been formally introduced. Molly, this is my brother, Mycroft. Mycroft, my fiancée, Molly Hooper.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Molly said with a warm smile. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you,” Mycroft managed to say, clearing his throat and fixing his gaze to the ground.

As Molly disappeared back into the kitchen, Sherlock turned a smirk to his brother.

“Clever, Sherlock. Well done,” Mycroft said, eyes darting towards the kitchen once or twice more.

“Thank you,” Sherlock said. “Now, if you’d be on your way…Molly and I were going to have some breakfast together.”

Mycroft scowled but rose from the chair.

“This is a sham, and I’m aware of that even if the social worker is not. I suggest you don’t mess it up if this is truly the route you’re going.”

“I don’t intend to,” Sherlock said. “Goodbye, Mycroft.”

The man didn’t reply as he walked towards the door. Sherlock listened to his footsteps descending before going to find Molly.

“Thank you,” he said, settling himself against the opposite counter and watching as she fixed his coffee.

“I didn’t mind,” she said. “They won’t take Alex from you so long as I’m here. And I do intend to be here. You needn’t worry.”

“You’re…more than I ever could have hoped for, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock said, coming over to peck her cheek gently. “Never leave me.”

“I just told you,” she said, turning to glance at him with a smile. “I don’t intend to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to applejacks0808, drpepperdiva91, Icecat62, and ilw1981 for comments! Love hearing your feedback!


	15. Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly moves in, Sherlock finds a new enemy, and the social worker makes her visit.

Molly moved in at last. Or rather started to move in. They began in shifts, bringing small amounts of things over, clothes, books, dishes. As for furniture, she replaced a few items with her own things like the table, but they kept the two familiar chairs, adding another one to the mix for her.

"You have your own proper place here now," Sherlock said with a smile as he helped push the vintage armchair into place next to his own.

It was a bit strange, seeing 221B transformed under Molly's hand. No pink pillows or doilies thankfully. But a second dresser in his bedroom. And Molly's better dishes in the cabinets. Her shampoo in the shower, toothbrush on the sink. Her preferred foods in the fridge.

However, Alex’s favorite addition to the flat was Molly’s cat Toby, who she brought over on one of her last trips.

“He’s been grumpy all week,” Molly said with a sigh. “He definitely knows we’re moving.”

“So we get the cat while he’s angry and likely to destroy things?”

Molly sighed. “I figured the earliest I brought him over here, the sooner he’d adjust.”

Sherlock glanced at the yellow eyes staring at him. Toby’s tail swished as Molly set him down, his eyes never leaving the consulting detective.

“I’m sure he’ll get used to it really soon,” Molly promised. “And I’ll be by again tonight. I just need to go finish a few things in the lab.”

She leaned in to peck his lips. Sherlock offered a small smile as she pulled away. All things considered, he’d grown somewhat used to the physical affection.

There were footsteps on the stairs before Alex bolted into the room. He paused on seeing Molly, chirping a hello before fixing his gaze on Toby.

“A cat!” he gasped.

“Alex, this is Toby,” Molly said with a smile. “Now you two can finally say you’ve met!”

Alex was instantly down on the floor petting Toby. The cat initially seemed a bit prickly, but soon had warmed to the attention and began to purr.

“He’s a sweetheart,” Molly promised. “I’m sure you two will get along just perfectly.”

Alex gave her a smile before scooping Toby up, carefully balancing him with his cast. The cat didn’t seem to mind.

“Come on, Toby, I’ll show you my room!” he said, heading towards the stairs with the cat still in his arms.

Molly turned back to Sherlock with a warm smile. “Well, one person will be very happy at least.”

Sherlock gave an eye roll before turning to go back to his experiment in the kitchen, though really it was hard now that Molly had removed all of chemicals and any tools she deemed unsafe. She’d promised him help at Bart’s if there was anything important he needed to do, but she insisted they maintain a “safe environment” for Alex. Whatever that meant.

“Well, I’ll see you later tonight,” Molly said, coming over to kiss his cheek. “Do you er… well… want me to… wear that thing you sent me?”

Sherlock frowned. “What thing? To what are you referring exactly?”

“Oh,” Molly glanced around before looking back at him sincerely. “The…er…gift you sent me. I got it this morning. It’s lovely of course and I thought you might like me to wear it…but if you’d rather…it’s no trouble really.”

“Gift? What gift? I didn’t send you a gift,” Sherlock snapped.

Molly’s smile faltered. “But…it was on my doorstep this morning. It had your name on it. ‘Dearest Molly, Love Sherlock.’ I thought it was sweet….er… I…you…didn’t send it?”

“The last gift I gave you were those chocolates Mrs. Hudson gave me to take you,” he paused realizing what he’d said. “I mean—”

“I suspected, it’s alright,” Molly said. “But you didn’t bring that this morning? It did seem a bit off for you, but I just kind of hoped—well never mind.”

“What was it?” Sherlock asked.

Molly blushed slightly. “Er…lingerie.”

“Underwear,” Sherlock said softly. “Oh that’s good. Clever.”

“Underwear?” Molly said, looking confused. “But what does that mean?”

“It means, our old friend Jim knows you’re with me now,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Bring that by this evening…not wearing it if you don’t mind. I want to look it over just to be safe.”

Molly nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I just assumed…”

“No. It’s alright,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “We can talk about it later. Don’t you worry. Now get off to work. I have a lot to do.”

She nodded and headed to the door, still sending an anxious glance back his way. Just in time, of course, Alex appeared on the steps, still carrying and cooing over Toby.

“Bye Molly!” he called.

She offered a half smile and waved at him. Alex picked up one of Toby’s paws to wave back. The cat didn’t look particularly pleased by the action, but thankfully didn’t bite or scratch at the boy in retaliation.

“Why’s Molly look upset?” Alex asked once they heard the front door close.

“Hmm? Does she? Oh well, probably just a bit worried now that Moriarty is aware of our relationship.”

Alex turned to stare at him. “Did he do something bad again?”

“He just sent her a little….present…regardless I’ll make sure Molly’s safe from any further contact from him. I imagine he finds this all rather amusing after dating her several years back.”

Alex’s eyebrows furrowed, suddenly cocking his head.

“Wait… _dating_?”

“Yes, dating. Are your ears not working properly?” Sherlock shot a look at the boy, though he was unable to avoid smiling at the comment.

“So Molly and Moriarty…dated…?” Alex said, still staring at Sherlock in disbelief, shifting Toby in his arms.

“Yep,” Sherlock said, popping the p at the end. “It was prior to knowing he was a psychopath, of course. Though I did advise Molly from the moment I met him that he was no good for her. Though that had to do with other things…”

Alex looked confused for just a moment but then just shook his head and looked at Toby.

“Dating’s weird, Toby,” Alex said.

“Yes, indeed,” Sherlock agreed with a sigh. “Though I suppose there’s something sort of nice about it in a way. Come on, let’s go get something for dinner. Molly will be back later this evening.”

Alex reluctantly set Toby down and the cat scurried off to hide under the sofa.

“Bye Toby, we’ll be back in a bit,” Alex promised.

 

Mrs. Hudson greeted them on the way back in, though she looked very concerned as Sherlock came in, a broom and dustpan in her hand.

“Oh Sherlock, the mess you’ve made!” she said, waving the broom at him. “Honestly, how hard would it have been to clean up after yourself?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said. “I didn’t leave any mess when I went out. Or not that I recall.”

“The kitchen, Sherlock! Oh broken glass and all sorts of things all over the floor!”

Sherlock frowned before bolting up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He heard Mrs. Hudson telling Alex not to run due to his arm, but Sherlock ignored that as he was soon faced with a display of the kitchen, his experiments that had been on the counters smashed on the floor instead. He cocked his head and examined closer.

Options flashed through his mind. Mrs. Hudson’s failed cleaning? Alex making a mess? But at last he had to settle on one. Intruder.

“Stay here,” he ordered Alex and Mrs. Hudson.

“Where are you going, Sherlock?” Mrs. Hudson said. “Aren’t you going to help me clean this mess up?”

“Shut up Mrs. Hudson! And I need my gun,” he shouted over his shoulder, heading towards his room.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson said.

He walked through the door, only to find Toby sitting on his bed.

The cat meowed before jumping off of the furniture. Sherlock quickly glanced around, already noting scratches on the bedframe, the lamp knocked off of the nightstand, and most disturbingly, a darker patch on the bedspread, that could only be urine judging from the smell.

“Sherlock?”

He turned to see Alex in the doorway.

“It was the blasted cat, there’s no danger,” Sherlock said. He shot a glare towards Toby, only to have the cat hiss at him. Sherlock made a hissing noise back, causing Toby’s ears to flatten before he jumped off the bed, darting through Sherlock’s legs and back down the hallway.

“Toby!” Alex cried. “No, come back, it’s okay!”

He went running off after the cat. Sherlock didn’t bother stopping him. He sighed and walked over to pull the bedspread and sheets off. Ridiculous cat. What Molly saw in keeping such an animal was beyond him.

“Sherlock?”

He turned to see Mrs. Hudson, wringing her hands.

“There’s a cat!”

He let out a long sigh and reached up to rub his temple. “Of course, Mrs. Hudson. It’s Molly’s. I thought she’d mentioned it to you.”

“Oh, yes I think she did. Agreed to pay a little more in rent to keep him too, the dear. Is he always this terrible though?”

“I believe Molly indicated he’s merely…upset…about moving,” Sherlock said.

“Oh I hope so,” Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head. “I thought you were bad enough to clean up after. At least you don’t do things like—that…” she pointed to the pile of blankets now on the floor. “Now, why don’t you let me wash those up while you put fresh ones on.”

Sherlock sighed but did decide to obey her instructions. At least he didn’t have to clean the cat’s mess up. Little devil.

By the time Molly had returned from her late shift, he and Mrs. Hudson had cleaned most everything. Alex in the meantime had tried to keep Toby out of trouble by taking him up to his bedroom where they could spend time together. Sherlock came upstairs later to find Alex spread out on his bed doing his school reading with Toby curled up next to him. He left the two of them there, shooting one last glare at the cat that gave him an equally disgruntled look.

Molly gave her apologies, of course, before presenting him with the underwear in a box with red wrapping paper. He examined the tag, noting the handwriting that was distinctly different from his own. Written on a distinct card, thick paper. Red ink. The undergarments themselves were fairly basic, but he’d have to search out a little more information on the manufacturer, see if there was a clue Moriarty had hidden there. He wouldn’t be surprised if the consulting criminal provided further taunts in the next few weeks. He’d have to be on the lookout.

In the meantime, he merely let himself relax a little as Molly began to kiss him, promising she’d do her best to settle Toby back into place, hoping he’d soon behave himself. He didn’t really mind her words that seemed unlikely to be true. He just allowed her physical attention to continue, surprised by how much he was enjoying himself.

By the time the social worker arrived for their scheduled appointment, most of Molly’s things were moved in. She’d picked Alex up that afternoon and was ready and waiting, just pulling a batch of biscuits out of the oven.

“What on earth are those?” Sherlock asked when she handed him one.

“Just try it. You like sweet things.”

“I’m trying to think. I don’t need food,” he muttered, even as he lifted a corner to his mouth and nibbled at it. It was surprisingly good so he settled on eating the rest.

“There, that wasn’t so hard was it? Now, do help me and set those on the table.”

“Where did you learn to make these?” Sherlock asked.

“Old family recipe. My mother collected a few of them, and I took those once my father passed on, not that he needed them really. Sorry, rambling again. I’m just a bit nervous.”

“You needn’t be. The social worker will like you just fine,” he promised, almost sure of it. There didn’t seem to be any way this could go wrong.

Mrs. Hudson peeked in to tell them they had a visitor. Molly shooed him out of the kitchen, sending him to the door to welcome the social worker in, taking her coat (as Molly had ordered him to do) and asking her to have a seat on the sofa.

“We’re so glad you could make it today,” Sherlock said. “My fiancée is most excited to meet you.”

Molly appeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. She smiled and set it in front of the woman on the coffee table. Sherlock watched the social worker’s eyes light up as Molly poured her tea and set a biscuit to the side of the plate.

She and Sherlock both pulled up chairs, though Molly did go to the stairs to call up to Alex. In the meantime the social worker took the time to glance around the impeccably clean flat.

Alex turned up dressed in a button up shirt and tie. Molly had insisted, even though Sherlock thought it was absolutely ridiculous. He came over and greeted the social worker before moving to take a seat in the chair Sherlock had pulled up.

“Well, it seems things have been going well,” the woman said before sipping at her tea. “The place looks much improved. So miss…”

“Hooper,” Molly answered. “Molly Hooper.”

“And it’s doctor not miss,” Sherlock corrected. Molly gave him a slight smile. He was well aware she most often didn’t correct people on that issue.

“Oh, my. What do you do, Mis—er—Dr. Hooper?” the social worker asked, setting her tea down to scribble a note in her journal.

“I’m a histopathologist,” Molly said. On seeing the woman’s blank look she added, “I work in the morgue at St. Bart’s as sort of a forensic scientist, helping the police, doing postmortems…all that.”

“Lovely, must be a good salary.”

“It’s quite nice,” Molly agreed.

The social worker turned to Alex. “And how do you like Dr. Hooper, Alexander? Is she doing an acceptable job helping Mr. Holmes?”

“Yes,” Alex said with a smile. “Molly is wonderful. She’s been helping take me to school and things, cooking for both of us. Oh and she took me to the zoo with Sherlock a few weeks ago. She’s brilliant! Plus Toby is my new best friend.”

“Toby? Do you already have a child?” the social worker asked, turning an eye to Molly even as she lifted a biscuit to her mouth.

“In a manner of speaking,” Molly said with a laugh. “Toby’s my cat. He’s moved in with us as well.”

“Oh another one for you to take care of,” the social worker said, but she was smiling. “So which of these boys is the biggest troublemaker of the lot?”

Molly had to giggle. “I’m not really sure I could decide,” she said, glancing over to see Sherlock and Alex both trying to look nonchalant.

“And has the chemical issue been dealt with?” the social worker asked, glancing down at her notepad again.

“Yes. I’ve told Sherlock he can do non-dangerous experiments here, but anything involving chemicals, fire, knives, or anything of the like can be done at my lab with my supervision,” Molly said.

“That sounds quite reasonable,” the woman said with a nod. “Well, if I might look around?”

Molly rose and led her around the remaining parts of the flat, showing her around the still sparkling kitchen after her and Mrs. Hudson’s latest cleaning job. Sherlock stayed seated with Alex who kept glancing anxiously towards the kitchen.

“It will be fine,” Sherlock finally said. “They’re not going to take you away.”

“I hope not,” Alex whispered.

Of course, Toby had to come investigate since Molly was in the kitchen, probably hoping she might feed him something. However, rather than looking at all concerned, the social worker knelt down to pet him, complimenting Molly on having such a fine pet. Toby behaved himself nicely. It was probably good in some ways. After all, based on the light hairs on her nylons, Sherlock had to suspect she had a cat as well.

After a long while of continuing to examine and ask questions, the social worker shut her notebook and smiled.

“I think everything checks out, unless there are any further emergency situations, you should be in the clear to begin filling out paperwork, Mr. Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you Dr. Hooper.”

“You too,” Molly said.

The woman paused at the door. “Oh, would it be too much trouble to ask for a few of those biscuits. They’re simply delicious.”

Molly quickly went over and snatched a few more, sliding them into the woman’s hand.

“You have a wonderful day,” she said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Molly bid the woman good day and then they were shutting the door, alone at last.

“We did it!” Molly cried, throwing herself at Sherlock. “We did it, Sherlock! We have Alex!”

“Well, after filling out papers and going through—”

She shut him up with a quick kiss to his mouth. Alex made a noise of disgust to the side.

“Well, as exciting as all this is, Toby and I are going to our room so we don’t have to watch you two snog,” he muttered.

“Alex, one moment,” Sherlock said.

The boy paused and came back over. Sherlock hesitated only a moment before reaching out to give Alex a half hug, mostly out of fear of the cat in his arms, still staring at Sherlock with hatred. He had a good feeling Toby was trying to fall into the running as his new archnemesis.

“Love you, Sherlock,” Alex said. “You too, Molly.”

“I love you as well, Alex,” Molly said, coming over to give him and Toby both a hug. “I think we’ll all be quite happy.”

Alex headed towards the stairs, and Sherlock turned back to his fiancée. Well, as he sat down with her to discuss how they wanted to proceed with selling Molly’s flat and finalizing the move, Sherlock couldn’t deny Molly’s thought. Perhaps it was possible they could be quite happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to TAHewes, Icecat62, and drpepperdiva91 for the reviews!
> 
> There is apparently some debate about Molly’s profession (even though on fanfiction I’ve pretty much exclusively seen her referred to as pathologist). I think the main problem is that she never is referred to as Dr. Hooper so that has caused some speculation on her being a lab technician instead. Though some have also speculated she’s a surgeon. Anyhow, I went traditional on that. Here's a cool Tumblr link on possibilities: http://wellingtongoose.tumblr.com/post/31926026103/semantics4
> 
> Anyhow, loving all the feedback! Please keep it coming, it inspires me to write more!


	16. Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock goes to a peculiar crime scene, has a concerning phone call about Alex, and goes on a mad goose chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Had some serious writer’s block on this one, but felt very much like Sherlock in deciding to play some Bach to inspire myself. It worked!  
> WARNINGS: This chapter again has some pretty creepy crime scene stuff. If violence, torture, death bother you etc. back out now (hope you already would have by this point)

Living with Molly had been wonderful, though Sherlock had to admit it left him feeling like a somewhat irresponsible parent, given that she seemed to be doing most of the work.

She made dinner most often (except the few nights she worked late that Mrs. Hudson gladly took over). She took Alex to school in the morning, though she left the picking up to Sherlock, figuring lateness was more excusable for the latter rather than the former. And best of all she hadn’t shown any signs of frustration regarding his need to not sleep some nights, or his desire to experiment (safely of course now) in the kitchen. She was patient with him, loving towards Alex.

Sometimes it seemed a dream, waking up in the morning to find her in her slippers in his kitchen, making herself coffee and offering him some breakfast. If only domestic bliss could last.

Although everything had been running fairly smoothly at home, Sherlock was well aware that a threat loomed over all of them.

He’d been continuing to research fires in London. There had been a good number lately, though he had eliminated over half of the list. He’d been searching for patterns like with the bank robberies, but so far there had been nothing. No sign of signal that the consulting criminal was trying to make any sort of game out of it. Perhaps his only thought was to burn as much of London as he could.

Not sure what else to think about, he resorted to picking up his violin instead. He allowed the steady swell of music to carry him off, wrapped up in the rhythm, counting off each measure, closing his eyes and surrendering for a few minutes.

A beep from his phone drew him out of his concentration. He laid the instrument aside, and picked up the device.

_Forgot what day it was?-GL_

Sherlock frowned at the confusing message before replying.

_Whatever do you mean?- SH_

_Just come meet me at the crime scene and you’ll see_. -GL

Sherlock waited until he had the address before heading off. He was certainly intrigued by the mysterious message, though he still hadn’t figured out what Greg meant about forgetting the day.

He arrived in front of an average looking building, though as he glanced it over, he was already picking up on the reasons why it was anything but. Besides the police tape and all the racket from Lestrade’s department hanging around.

There were tire skid marks that looked to be incredibly fresh. As he got closer, he could see the broken section of the window on the front door. The clever means of reaching inside to undo a lock. The way the doormat had been haphazardly pushed to the side, in a rush out the door. There had been a break in.

“Why are you troubling me with a robbery, Lestrade?” Sherlock sighed as he walked over to the detective inspector.

“Because it’s not just a robbery, is it?” Lestrade said. “Seriously, you just forgot what today is then? I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised and all, but really.”

“Today is…? Don’t trouble me with meaningless details, Lestrade. What do you want?”

“Come on upstairs,” the man said at long last. “You’re going to find this interesting…or well, I’m going to find this interesting seeing your reaction. Now, go on, second floor.”

Sherlock made his way up to the second floor to a small flat. Not unlike 221 B really, especially considering the three occupants. Four if you counted a cat.

Sherlock glanced around for a moment. He could see the signs of the struggle that had taken place. Even if some clean up had been done, there was a shard of glass that had been missed, places where a piece of furniture had been put into place wrong. Everything spoke of a violent invasion.

There was a long moment of him standing in the doorway, before he walked over to the small kitchen where the first occupant was sitting.

A young woman dressed in a white labcoat was sitting at the table. Her hands had been nailed to it, likely to keep her in place. Sherlock stared for a moment, taking in the hair done like Molly’s, even though he could tell the woman never wore it like that based on the photographs around the flat.

The child was the next person he saw. A little boy wearing a football uniform sitting on the sofa in front of the television. The burn marks on the boy’s forearms, the missing fingernails, clear signs of torture. Sherlock simply left him, knowing there was no good in wasting his time pitying what a horrifying death he’d had.

And then in the bedroom was the man. Lying spread out across the mattress. His wrists were bruised from where he’d clearly been tied to the bedposts.

“It’s sick isn’t it?” Lestrade said from the doorway.

“Indeed,” Sherlock murmured.

“So, this is the third year he’s done this. My question, why’s he added a woman?” Lestrade asked, peering at Sherlock curiously.

“Some strange idea of his, I’m sure,” Sherlock muttered, even as he delved deeper into his mind palace, searching for meaning where there didn’t seem to be any.

From what he could see this was merely senseless violence. This was merely Moriarty playing his part, trying to cause a reaction, trying to figure out how much he could bother Sherlock before he finally snapped.

“Yeah, sure,” Lestrade said. “Here’s the thing…she looks kind of like Molly Hooper doesn’t she? With the hair done that way and her lab coat on. We already checked, she’s not a doctor or anything. Works for a nonprofit. Why’d he go to the trouble of making her look like that?”

Sherlock sighed. “Alright, fine, I admit it. Molly Hooper and I are engaged.”

Lestrade’s jaw dropped. “What are you…you’re having me on. No, not possible. You and Molly Hooper? Cor, that’s a good one.”

“I’m quite serious. I proposed to her a short while ago, and since then she’s taken up residence in 221B with Alex and me.”

Lestrade kept staring at him. “Look, I thought it was a good joke or something. Him setting you two up in a little deranged domestic bliss show. But he’s serious? You’re really with Molly?”

“Quite haven’t I already said that? What’s so odd about me and her being together?”

“The fact you’ve never shown a fancy for anyone before,” Lestrade suggested. “The way you went on and on about how horrid marriage is at John’s wedding. The little part where you’ve completely ignored Molly up unto this point, never shot her a second glance, never shown the slightest interest. You’ve got to be bloody joking.”

“I’m not,” Sherlock said. “It’s quite serious. And while I disapprove of marriage, engagement has suited us well. I don’t know if we’ll ever actually go through a ceremony, but I knew how to convince her to be with me. She’s been quite happy.”

Lestrade crossed his arms. “Next time I’m at the morgue—which’ll probably be quite soon with three new bodies—I’m going to have a good chat with her and see what she says about it. You’d better be treating her well. Molly’s a nice girl. She really deserves a lot better than you, you know?”

Sherlock sighed. “Yes, alright. Well, is there anything I can help you with here? If not I’d like to go do some investigating of my own. I can’t believe I forgot it was John and Mary’s death anniversary. It hardly feels like that was three years ago.”

“Yeah. No, I just wanted you to see it so you were aware. I know you prefer visiting to photographs. Think he’s got any other plans for you or is this it?” Lestrade asked, looking around the flat.

“Possibly. I really wouldn’t put it past him—”

Sherlock broke off as his phone suddenly rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, startled to see the number from Alex’s school. He excused himself and headed back to the living room answering as he went down the stairs.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello Mr. Holmes,” the school’s secretary said. “I’m afraid there’s been an incident with Alex. We need you to come to the school. He—well it might just be better if you came so we can talk it over.”

“Talk what over?” Sherlock snapped. “I need the details, give them to me now, what’s happened?”

“I’ll see you soon, Mr. Holmes.”

She hung up leaving him suddenly feeling numb. Moriarty’s plans apparently did include a bit more than leaving corpses for him to find. He ran to hail a cab, deciding to just text Lestrade his apologies on the way to the school. He didn’t have a moment to spare. If Alex had been kidnapped or hurt or anything like that, he’d need every minute possible to save him. Time was precious.

The ride comprised mostly of him telling the driver how incompetent he was, suggesting faster routes as they went along, sending texts to Lestrade apologizing and promising to look into the case. Wondering if he should tell Molly before he even reached the school or not.

Once there he threw cash at the driver and then dashed into the building, gasping for breath by the time he reached the main office.

“I was called about my son Alex Watson. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

Of course, just around that time, he glanced at the bench next to the door and noticed Alex sitting there. Doing a minor scan of him, Sherlock could see he had a few scrapes and bruises, but otherwise seemed fine.

“Welcome Mr. Holmes. Alex needs to be taken home for the rest of the day. Based on his actions he will be facing a fixed term exclusion,” the secretary said.

“Punishment for what?” Sherlock asked. “What’s he done?”

“Alex was involved in a fight with two other boys, one of whom was just sent to the hospital. Violence is not tolerated in this school. We are asking you to keep him home for three days before he can come back, not including today of course. We’re hoping this will teach him his lesson.”

Sherlock glanced back at Alex, taking in the cast still on his arm.

“You’re telling me Alex beat up _two_ other boys while still dealing with an injured arm? His dominant arm?” Sherlock asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m sorry Mr. Holmes, that’s what all of the witnesses we talked to said. Now, if you’d please take him home.”

Sherlock sighed and went over to Alex.

“Come on.”

Alex followed him to the door, though he was silent, allowing Sherlock time to slip back into his thoughts. So it hadn’t been Moriarty, while that was somewhat of a relief, he still had to realize that Alex being given a fixed term exclusion wasn’t exactly good news. In fact, it looked rather bad.

“What were you thinking?” Sherlock suddenly asked. “This kind of stunt could cause problems with the adoption. Is that what you want? Do you want Molly and I to have wasted our time so you could get in a petty fight in the school yard?”

Alex stared at him. “I didn’t mean to, Sherlock. I wasn’t thinking, I just—”

“Of course you weren’t thinking!” Sherlock snapped, swinging around, coat flapping wildly at his fast movement as he confronted the boy. “There’s a reason you have a brain, use it! I don’t care how impressive you think you are taking on two boys while you’re in a cast. This is not something to be proud of. You’d better hope that social worker doesn’t turn up on our doorstep tomorrow. Then again, maybe this time I’ll let her take you if you’re going to be such a nuisance.”

His words fled from his mouth without his control. All the pent up fear and anger were roiling together inside of him, becoming more and more dangerous with every second. However, he felt justified in what he said in some ways. Alex had been foolish. Alex had made a poor decision that could cost all of them dearly. He deserved to have some sense knocked into him.

What he didn’t expect was a retaliation.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like this is all _my_ fault,” Alex suddenly yelled. “You just want to make me look bad since you feel guilty about what happened last month. But it was _your_ fault there was acid for me to spill. It was _your_ fault that I was climbing up there looking for something to make food with. I’m just a kid and you’re the one who’s supposed to be responsible, but instead you act like a big childish baby and put all the responsibility on me like I’m supposed to somehow be all mature and perfect when I have the worst possible parent in the world who doesn’t take care of me and only cares about himself and his stupid cases.”

Sherlock was unable to find words. He stared at Alex for a moment, trying to process what the boy had just said.

“You think just because you’re a famous detective everything you do is okay,” Alex screamed, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Well you know what, it’s not. And I don’t care if the bloody social worker comes back and takes me out of your bloody flat to go live with someone else. I _hate_ you. I wish you’d died instead of my parents. You were the one that should have died. Moriarty wants you not them. But instead they had to die and now I’m stuck with you. You’re the worst parent in the world, and I don’t want you anymore.”

And without another word Alex turned and took off running. Momentarily caught off guard, Sherlock was at a disadvantage suddenly trying to catch up. Alex had been showing more and more athleticism in his football league, and it showed now as he sprinted several meters ahead of the detective, darting around a corner. Sherlock chased after him, calling his name, begging him to stop. But if Alex heard him, he didn’t care.

The boy cut another corner, and this time when Sherlock rounded it, there was no sign of Alex. He was gone. Vanished. Thinking quickly Sherlock made a guess on his path down an alley and quickly made his way towards the other side. But once there, again he caught no signs of a boy running on the busy sidewalks.

Sherlock closed his eyes, muttering to himself, trying to steady his mind and _think_. Where would Alex go? What was going on with him? Would he be all right? This was the worst possible day for him to be out on his own.

He cursed to himself and decided the best idea would be to head home. That was the most likely place for Alex to go. But Molly should be home for an hour between shifts, and perhaps she’d have a better idea.

She greeted him with a smile when he arrived at the flat. He looked around, but saw no signs that Alex had returned. His bag wasn’t in the usual place, nor were his shoes by the front door.

“Is Alex home?” Sherlock asked.

Molly arched an eyebrow. “Alex home? It’s barely one o’clock silly. Why would he be home?”

“Because he has been given a temporary exclusion from school for fighting. He took off when I was walking him back. I had hoped he would have come home,” Sherlock said.

Molly stood there for a moment eyes wide.

“Hold on, what?”

Sherlock sighed and explained it again, even as he tried to think where Alex might have gone if not home. The park perhaps?

“Did you call the police?”

“Molly, if I call the police it might get back to the social worker, and then we’ll be in even more trouble,” Sherlock pointed out.

Molly frowned, but did seem to realize he had a point.

“Alright, I tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to go walk around the neighborhood a bit. Go to the park. Go see Mrs. Hudson. All that. He can’t have gone to a friend’s house since most of them are still in school. I’ll wait here in case he calls or comes home. And Sherlock, when this is over we’re getting him a mobile like I suggested last week.”

Sherlock sighed, but had to admit she had a point. Alex probably did need something like that, especially considering his reckless attitude as of late.

However, more than an hour later he still had no leads on Alex’s whereabouts. His guess was coming out onto that street he’d hidden somewhere, allowing Sherlock to bypass him and therefore allowing him time to backtrack and get away from the detective. Alex had always had good talent for hiding. But where he’d gone from there was not something he was sure about.

Molly called him after an hour of searching telling him she’d had no luck either, nor had Mrs. Hudson who had apparently also gone out looking. She asked him to come home and said they should call the police. He returned back to 221B feeling resigned to his fate, even as he wondered how a seven year old of all people could elude him.

When he arrived back, he flopped down on the couch, promising Molly he’d call the police in just a minute. He needed a little longer to think. Maybe Moriarty had Alex. Maybe he’d snatched him. An hour did seem a long time for the boy to be gone. Especially over something so silly.

“What exactly did he say to you?” Molly asked. “Please, Sherlock. Tell me one more time. I just want to make sure we’ve exhausted all our options.”

Sherlock sighed and repeated Alex’s rantings as best he could.

“Something about hating me, and me being a terrible parent. Lots of things about me not taking responsibility.”

“Again obvious,” Molly said with a sigh. “Anything else?”

“Something about wishing I had died instead of his parents. Funny he said that today considering it is the day they died.”

Molly froze.

“What did you say?”

“It’s the anniversary of John and Mary’s death,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “What, is that important?”

“You idiot,” Molly sighed. She rushed over to grab her coat. “Come on, we’re going to find him. I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson if he returns back before us to give us a call.”

“Where are we going?” Sherlock asked, following her down the stairs.

“Sherlock, most people like to visit people’s graves on the day of their death you know,” Molly said. “Sometimes more frequently depending on how much they care.”

“I used to take him almost once a week the first few months. Stopped after a while though,” Sherlock said. “Figured he’d be over it by now.”

“ _Over it_?” Molly said, staring at him. “How thick can you be? Sherlock I still visit my parents graves every now and then and they died several decades ago?”

“Hmmm? Oh, I suppose I forget about sentiment and all that.”

“Come on, you complete and utter arse, we’re finding Alex. I’m certain this is where he’s going to be.”

A bit later, the cab pulled up in front of the cemetery. Sherlock stepped out and followed behind Molly, though as they drew further into the grounds, it became clear to him that both of them had been somewhat right. Sentiment had been Alex’s primary motivation in going to his parent’s grave. It was not, however, the reason he was currently there.

Sherlock stared at the two figures near the Watsons’ grave. He pushed Molly behind him as they went closer, debating if he should order her back. He had a feeling she wouldn’t go even if he told her to. And besides, she was probably better protected with him.

Alex was kneeling directly on his parents’ graves with his back facing Sherlock and Molly. Beside him, stood the consulting criminal himself, holding a gun that he pressed back to Alex’s temple as Sherlock and Molly approached.

“Leave him be, Moriarty,” Sherlock said firmly.

“Oh, he’s just having a bit of fun with daddy. Making sure he’s being properly looked after. I was a bit concerned when you broke my property, Sherlock. Only I’m supposed to do that,” Moriarty chuckled, running his other hand through Alex’s hair. Sherlock saw the boy’s back and shoulders tense at the touch.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked.

“Just wanted to say hello. Wish Alex a happy missing your parents day.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, love, you’re better off without them. I know I was without mine. Mmm but that’s a long story and we don’t quite have time for that.”

He looked up and smiled at Molly.

“Ah, Molly Molly Molly, look at you. Self-conscious and pitiful as ever. Can’t believe this poor sod took you in, guess he felt a bit sorry for you. Isn’t that right, Sherlypoo?’

“Stop playing your games,” Molly said. “Let Alex go.”

“Oh but I do so love games. And so does Sherlock for that matter. The game is on, isn’t it? That’s how you like it,” Moriarty purred. 

Sherlock scowled and remained silent. They’d been in this position before. This wasn’t Moriarty’s end gaming. No, he was planning something much more impressive than this pathetic display. Merely killing a child wasn’t going to be enough for him.

“Just wanted to check in again,” Moriarty said with a bright smile. “Say hello to the little puppy, isn’t that right, my sweet?”

Alex twitched minimally, still remaining quiet still as the gun pressed a little harder.

“Well, have a good death day, Sherlock. Enjoy it while you just have one to celebrate. Might give you a few more in the upcoming years.”

Moriarty smirked and slowly released Alex. The boy rose to his feet and turned, stumbling over to Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock allowed Molly to scoop him up, deciding it was better to not get involved considering how Alex had spoken to him earlier.

Moriarty walked back into the cemetery, going further and further in amongst the headstones. Towards where, Sherlock had no idea. But he didn’t care. He had a lot more work to do before he could possibly catch Moriarty. He needed to start carrying a gun with him always.

Molly was whispering question to Alex, who was answering in sobs. Sherlock patted her shoulder and headed back towards the cab. Better to discuss the rest at home.

* * *

 

 

“I didn’t mean to,” Alex said when they’d sat him down on the couch to discuss later. “I wanted to see my mum and dad. But then he turned up.”

“Did he hurt you at all?” Molly asked, still fussing over Alex’s injuries from the fight earlier.

“No, just threatened a lot of stuff,” he whispered. “And pushed the gun at me a bunch.”

“And what was the fight about earlier, sweetheart?” Molly asked. “You can tell me. I won’t get angry.”

She glanced at Sherlock who was sitting on the other side of the room, listening but not contributing.

“I was really sad today. And Ben asked what was wrong, so I told him about my mum and dad, and then these two older boys made fun of me. And I tried to just ignore them, but then one of them pushed me and…it all goes sort of fuzzy after that. I didn’t mean to hurt them so badly.”

“Well, you can’t do that again,” Molly ordered him. “No more fighting for you.”

“No,” Sherlock interjected.

Molly glanced up at him, shooting him the we-haven’t-discussed-this look.

“No. First thing tomorrow I’m enrolling him in Taekwondo classes.”

“Sherlock,” Molly sighed. “I don’t know if you get the point of this, but Alex needs to learn that violence isn’t the answer. I mean—”

“No, Alex needs to learn to control his need for violence with self-discipline. He needs to recognize it as a good form of self-defense, but one he must use with precision. A martial arts class would provide that. While I prefer Baritsu, it’s not as commonly taught, so Taekwondo should do the trick.”

Alex’s jaw had dropped open, but he had a certain gleam in his eye. He grinned and shot up, pushing past Molly to come over to Sherlock.

“Thank you!” he said, throwing himself at the man.

Sherlock sighed and let Alex envelop him in a tight hug. The fickleness of children. Ridiculous.

“I promise I’ll do better,” Alex said. “And I’m sorry.”

Sherlock hesitated only a moment before saying, “I’m sorry too.”

Alex pulled away quite quickly. He gave a half smile at the words. “Thanks, Sherlock. I’m going to go tell Toby and Mrs. Hudson.”

The detective tried his best to not roll his eyes at the idea of telling a cat. He ultimately failed, though it was after Alex’s back was turned. Molly was still giving him a look, and once Alex was out of the room she came over to put a hand on the side of his face, forcing him to look at her.

“Are you sure a fighting class is the best thing for Alex?” she asked. “It just seems a bit silly to me, combatting his need to fight by enrolling him in a place that will teach him about fighting. He put a boy in the hospital today. An older boy. While he was wearing a cast.”

“If Alex’s violence isn’t trained, he will continue to use it in fits of passion. Teaching him discipline will help some. He’s Mary and John’s boy, Molly. And while I hesitate to call Mary’s behavior psychopathic…she was willing to go to extremes when needed, she didn’t hesitate to use violence if needed. And John wasn’t altogether different in some respects…craving the thrill of doing reckless and dangerous things, being willing to use violence if he needed or wanted to.”

Sherlock sighed.

“My point is,” he said, “we need to help him with this. And for now I think trying something like Taekwondo might help. If it doesn’t, we’ll remove him from the class and find him an anger management group or something. Personally, I think an outlet for some of the aggression would do him good.”

Molly moved in to hug him tightly, squeezing him even when his arms remained at his sides.

“I trust you,” she promised. “And I want you to know he doesn’t hate you. No matter what he says.”

Sherlock gave a half smile, but he wasn’t so sure if Molly was right. Alex had a point. He wasn’t an ideal parent. John and Mary should never have died leaving him in Sherlock’s care. Alex deserved so much more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realized I maybe should have put some dates on chapters to give a timeline idea…whoops. I’ll see if I can maybe fix that up and make it more clear. I know sometimes transitions become lost in the story. But yes, it has been 3 years, I’ve skipped a bit here and there, because we have a lot of ground to cover. So Alex is almost eight at this point.
> 
> Thanks to ameerawrites, Ladycrafter, and S.Montana for the awesome feedback and support. Appreciated knowing a bit more about Pathologists, and also what you guys thought!  
> Loving the comments!


	17. Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock begins to worry about some strange signs, he and Alex spend a week of summer alone, and he is troubled when he learns something new about Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter after a busy week. Phew.
> 
> Warnings- hmm…well I sometimes forget some people are homophobic. I introduced Harry and Anna earlier of course, but if a lesbian couple being cute and coupley bothers you—I’d leave now. No need to flame me since I warned you. Thanks!

Sherlock could hardly believe it. Staring down at finalized paperwork. Alex was officially his. His responsibility. His ward. His…son? Did he think of Alex as his own son?

Mycroft had called minutes after everything was finalized to ensure Sherlock was aware that social services could still check up on him if there were any complaints, and to still make sure he was doing a good job caring for Alex.

But so far things had been running smoothly for a few months. Alex had been taken in for his cast removal. He’d gotten through the fixed exclusion without too much trouble, and his Taekwondo classes did seem to be helping.

Molly, however, was puzzling him. Life had been running smoothly up until the process was finalized. They’d been relatively happy together. But suddenly she seemed…distant.

He’d noticed it shortly after he had the process finalized. Molly hadn’t seemed altogether happy about it. Sure, she’d given a few smiles and such, congratulated Alex and Sherlock. But there was something missing in her eyes when she said the words.

To Sherlock’s continued worry, Molly also started taking strange phone calls. She usually went out into the hall to take them, but he could pick up a word or phrase or two. He heard her talking about how much she “liked the sound of him” and how “this has always been my lifelong dream” and how “he’s a doctor, which is perfect you know. Only the best as you always say, Meena.”

Meena. Molly’s “best friend” who always had said Sherlock wasn’t good enough for her. The words and the person Molly was speaking them to didn’t bode well. And when he looked at her hand the next day, he noticed she was no longer wearing his ring.

Stealing her laptop one day he noted she had also been looking at other flats around London. Bigger ones than the one she’d had before they’d moved in.

The signs were becoming clearer. Molly was interested in moving on with her life. From the sound of things she’d already met someone else. She was going to leave.

Sherlock tried not to let it bother him. Honestly, there really wasn’t anything bad about Molly leaving. It was a logical thing to do now that Alex had been officially adopted, they could allow their sham of a relationship to end. She’d probably grown tired of his peculiar habits, even if she hadn’t said such. She most likely wanted a man who could give her all the sex she wanted. Be the cuddly, loving, romantic type that most women wanted.

Sherlock tried to convince himself he didn’t care. Molly had offered him a level of help with Alex, but as the boy was gradually become older and more mature that would grow to be less necessary. In time, he wouldn’t need either of them really.

As though to prove his point, Molly informed Sherlock that she was going on a trip to visit her brother for a spell. Sherlock initially expected her to put Mrs. Hudson in charge of things, but instead she assured Sherlock she thought he was perfectly capable, though she did leave him some emergency numbers and suggestions.

The only thing he didn’t consider until Molly left for her trip, was the fact that unlike previous times she’d left him with Alex, this time, there was no school to make his life easier. This time, it was summer.

Alex normally was skilled at occupying himself. He didn’t become bored too regularly, or at least from what Molly had told him about spending time with other children. However, summer, with only a few Taekwondo lessons to go to, left Alex with more time than he could truly fill. That being said, within four hours of the first day, he was downstairs begging Sherlock to help him find something to do.

“Please, Sherlock,” Alex pleaded. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I did some reading. And I played with my toys. Can we do _something_? Like at least go to the park? Please please please please please.”

Sherlock sighed and closed Molly’s computer. He looked outside to see that it was still pouring rain. He shook his head before turning his full attention onto the boy.

“The park, and what about after that? I have a feeling that won’t be quite enough to alleviate your inability to find something to do. Besides, it’s pouring. If you get sick Molly will have my head.”

Alex pouted. “Can we build a fort then? You liked that last time. And you could do work in it while I play!”

Sherlock thought for a moment before smiling. “I think we can do better than a fort. Come on, help me move some furniture.”

Alex’s face lit up and he immediately set to work following Sherlock’s instructions in moving pieces of furniture around the room.

Within a half an hour, they’d formed the creation Sherlock had envisioned. Alex stood to the side, examining.

“What is it?” Alex asked, looking at the strange arrangement, both tables pushed together in the middle of the room, the sofa and chairs surrounding them in a circular formation. Sherlock pulled the coffee table up and then the smaller end table on top of that before adding Toby’s scratching post to the top of the already precarious tower.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s a pirate ship,” Sherlock said. He kicked off his shoes and stepped onto the sofa, hauling himself up onto the table. Standing on the new ship’s deck he reached down a hand to Alex. The boy quickly took it, clambering up to stand beside Sherlock next to the smaller table stack, their new mast and crow’s nest.

“Ooh!” Alex said suddenly. “Wait, I need some things. Be right back!”

He jumped down from the deck.

“Watch out for sharks,” Sherlock ordered.

Alex giggled as he ran for the steps. Sherlock listened to him going up them, there was a moment’s silence as he clearly arrived at his room, and then a few minutes later he was coming back down. Sherlock realized he should probably lecture on not running on stairs, but given the boy’s excitement he couldn’t manage it.

Alex popped into the room with a pirate hat and two bandanas, two toy swords and a pistol, and Toby all bundled in his arms. He clambered on board and set his treasure trove down.

“Toby wants to be a pirate too,” Alex exclaimed.

The cat gave Sherlock a most disgruntled look, but he put up with Alex picking him up and tying a bandana around him before lifting him to be set on the crow’s nest. Even after several months of adjustment, Toby had still maintained a deep dislike for Sherlock, so the detective kept an eye on the cat. Alex handed Sherlock the hat and sword before tying the second bandana on his own head.

“We ready to set sail, captain?” Alex asked.

“Indeed, the game is on, matey,” Sherlock said with a roguish smile, setting the hat in place.

The two played for hours. Trying to find the dread pirate Moriarty to take back their old ship. Searching for buried treasure. Avoiding storms and sharks and other ships trying to take them down. They had sword fights and canon battles that shook their rickety boat.

They were stopped only by Mrs. Hudson popping her head in and saying she was heading out and not to expect dinner from her.

“What have you done to the place?” Mrs. Hudson said, staring around at the strange furniture arrangement.

“Sherlock made a pirate ship,” Alex exclaimed with a grin. “And we’re having adventures.”

“Well, you be careful not to break your arm again, love. Wouldn’t want to be taking you to the hospital again so soon. And Sherlock, you be careful. I’ll be back in a few hours, dear. Make sure Alex gets something to eat.”

Sherlock sighed and stepped down from the ship, moving to help Alex down as well. Of course, a rudimentary exploration of the kitchen showed that there were minimal choices for dinner.

“How does peas and popcorn sound?” Sherlock asked.

Alex giggled but agreed that sounded fine.

“Oh and toast. There. That’s a little more well-rounded.”

The detective made up the meal before they headed back over to the ship to consume their meal onboard. They then proceeded to play for a few more hours, until Alex started falling asleep on the deck and Sherlock carried him up to bed.

The next few days were much the same. Sherlock found amusing games to play with the boy. One day it was crime scene, using several of Alex’s soft toys as suspects for a brutal murder. Another day they were sitting on the sofa trying to think of something to do when Sherlock suddenly leaned across to Alex and whispered, “The floor is lava.” And they then proceeded to spend a good few hours trying to get to different places in the flat without touching the floor. With the exception of Toby, who Alex decided was a lava monster. And of course they did end up building another fort to play in at one point.

But in the quiet moments Sherlock was left with time to consider. Things were going smoothly with just him and Alex. Mrs. Hudson had told him his meals were a bit strange, but she had to admit he usually did fine with making sure Alex had more than just junk food. They’d had no accidents, a few episodes of whining but no temper tantrums, and he hadn’t been late one day for picking Alex up from Taekwondo. He could manage quite well. He’d become much more practiced at this, and he was succeeding.

But that left him with the question of Molly.

In the evenings, when they’d sometimes put the furniture back in normal formation, Sherlock often found himself glancing at Molly’s empty chair. At night when he finally decided to retire to bed, he found himself looking at the empty side of the bed. Even in a week, there were moments when he was surprised by how much he missed Molly’s presence. Not because he needed her help, but because he wanted her there.

He wasn’t the only one of course. On the fifth night with her gone, Alex came down to his bedroom.

“Toby’s acting weird,” he whispered. “He keeps meowing and it’s scaring me.”

Sherlock glanced at the cat in the boy’s arms.

“He probably just misses Molly.”

Alex frowned and nodded. “I miss her too. She’s coming back soon, right?”

Sherlock swallowed but managed to answer in the affirmative. She would be coming back. But after that he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have the heart to tell Alex Molly was probably going to be leaving them.

“Can we sleep with you tonight?” Alex asked.

Sherlock sighed and scooted over a bit, moving the blankets aside so Alex could climb in. The boy set Toby at the foot of the bed, where he soon curled up, though his yellow eyes were still staring at the both of them.

Alex yawned and snuggled under the covers before quickly drifting off. Sherlock was left awake and alone, trying to figure out his next move. Trying to figure out how this of all things had left him feeling so completely helpless.

* * *

 

 

Molly returned from her visit to see her brother looking tired but happy. From what Sherlock could deduce, her brother had just removed himself from a bad relationship and Molly had been dealing with the aftermath. But from the small signs he was picking up it hadn’t been too terrible. Grains of sand on her shoes showed him they’d been to the beach, and Molly always talked about how much she loved the seaside.

Still, the tiredness made him worry about approaching her on the issue of her moving out. But the sooner he made his request, the sooner Molly wouldn’t have to deal with wasting time planning. He just wanted to make sure he understood why she was choosing this. If she truly had met someone else, he understood. He wasn’t an ideal candidate for a boyfriend after all, and he’d never had traditional feelings for her. But he appreciated her companionship. And he didn’t want to let her go just yet. Not if it could be prevented.

Of course, first he had to wait for Molly to stop talking with Alex. The boy had installed himself on her lap and was busy chattering away about all the things they’d done. Molly kept smiling at him, occasionally remarking that it sounded like he’d had a fun time.

Once Alex went up to find a place for the ceramic lighthouse Molly had bought him, Sherlock turned his attention to his “fiancée.”

“Molly, I think we ought to talk.”

She nodded at that. “Alright, what about? No problems while I was gone? Worried a bit about you two, but you really have gotten a better handle on things in the last year or so.”

“Oh, no, everything went smoothly. You’re right, I’ve become more adept at handling Alex,” Sherlock hesitated a moment. “No, I actually wanted to ask about your plans to move out.”

Molly stiffened. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Yes, I am planning on moving out. I’m going to look for a place of my own.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

She sighed. “You’ve got Alex now, you don’t need me. You’re handling him just fine on your own. I figure now that our little charade as an engaged couple is done, it makes sense. Besides, I’ve been thinking more lately about what I want to do with my life and I realized there are still quite a few things I want to do…and time is against me on that.”

“I…Molly…the thing is I’ve come to appreciate you being here. And while I know I’m not the best boyfriend and certainly don’t really give you as much romantic attention as you’d probably like, I want you to know that I would love to continue living with you. You’re very…dear to me.” Sherlock wished he was better at reading emotions in that moment. He couldn’t tell what Molly was thinking.

“I know, Sherlock. You’re very dear to me too. But I need to figure out what I want in life. And I’m just not sure…I have a feeling that some of what I want isn’t what you want. For that reason, it’s probably better if I move out in the next month or so. Don’t worry, I’ll handle telling Alex.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “What could you possibly want that I wouldn’t? Is this because I won’t marry you? Because if that’s the case I’d go through it. It seems a bit silly to me, but I would do it for you.”

Molly gave a half smile, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

“You’re so wonderful, Sherlock. You really are. But I don’t want marriage. You don’t have to worry about it. It’s my life and I’m figuring it out.”

Sherlock was considerably perplexed. “What could possibly be your problem with this then? If it’s not about marriage or me being a better boyfriend…it’s because you’ve met someone else, isn’t it.”

“No,” Molly sighed. “Sherlock please, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Molly, you have to tell me why or—”

He broke off as Alex appeared in the doorway.

“It’s great Molly. I put it on my desk,” he told her.

“Sounds perfect,” she said with yet another watery smile. “I don’t think I got a proper hug. Come here.”

Alex grinned and rushed over to throw his arms around her. Sherlock watched the two cuddle for a minute. This was one mystery he was certainly determined to figure out. Whatever was going on with Molly, he wasn’t going to allow her to slip away so easily. Not when it was so obvious how much love she had for Alex as she offered to take him to the park that afternoon, gazing at him with an adoring smile. No, Molly needed his help for some reason. He had to show her that he was willing to do whatever it took to keep her. She couldn’t just slip away. He’d lost his closest friend before. He wasn’t going to allow it to happen a second time.

* * *

 

 

Two weeks later, and he was no closer to cracking the case than before. Molly hadn’t told Alex yet, but she’d told Sherlock that she’d settled on a new flat and would begin leasing soon. It was only a matter of time before she began the actual moving out process. All that told Sherlock was that he was running out of time.

If only he had someone who was good at knowing about human interactions. He’d asked Lestrade out on the job one day, and the man had been a bit clueless. Said that last time he’d seen Molly she’d seemed quite happy. He was nervous about telling Mrs. Hudson, but he did ask her opinion about if she thought Molly seemed all right. The woman had just mentioned something about everyone having ups and downs in life and that Molly might just need some space. Other than those two, Sherlock wasn’t sure he had anyone else to ask.

In the meantime, he was stuck at a party at Anna and Harry’s trying to pretend everything was fine with Molly when it was quite obvious everything wasn’t. Though Sherlock was mostly trying to focus on Alex, who was eagerly telling him how brilliant the party was going to be and how excited he was to meet Ella, his cousin.

Harry and Anna had been trying to have a baby for a while. Apparently they had a close friend who’d volunteered himself to help father the baby, and after a few tries, Anna was proudly carrying their baby.

From Sherlock’s few observations, the two had been doing well. Harry’s drinking had improved some. From everything he could see, the three were likely to be very happy. Of course, making Alex very happy at the thought of having a new cousin to play with.

Sherlock watched as Harry gave Alex instructions on how to hold her. Alex was simply in awe, eyes wide as he stared down at the small baby in his arms, allowing his aunt to move his hands and help him support the baby’s neck.

“She’s so cute,” Alex said with a smile.

Sherlock didn’t bother correcting the silly comment on beauty (since that was, after all, nothing more than a social construct).

“She looks quite healthy,” he instead agreed. “Congratulations to you both.”

Harry grinned and leaned over to kiss Anna on the mouth. The other woman gave her an adoring smile, moving in to accept a side hug and staying there with her head resting on Harry’s shoulder.

“She’s got her mummy’s eyes,” Molly cooed. “Are you both mummy to her?”

Harry smiled. “We just decided to tack names on. So she’s mummy Anna.”

“So perfect,” Molly said warmly.

“Look at her, Molly,” Alex said, holding her a bit higher. “She’s so tiny!”

“She’ll get bigger fast,” Molly assured him. “In just a few years she’ll be following after you and you’ll have to teach her all kinds of new things.”

“Think I can teach her Taekwondo?” Alex said with a smile.

“Maybe when she’s older,” Molly told him.

Ella started squirming and let out a wail. So Anna let go of Harry and came over to take her.

“You were doing fine, sweetheart,” she reassured Alex. “She’s probably just tired from all the guests fussing over her. You can come over again sometime soon and hold her lots.”

Alex nodded at that and smiled at his cousin one last time before asking Sherlock if he could go have some cake.

“One piece,” Molly told him before Sherlock could even answer. “No spoiling your dinner.”

Alex bounded off into the crowd.

Harry wrapped an arm back around Anna, looking down at her daughter with a smile. She reached a finger out to stroke along one chubby cheek. Sherlock decided maybe now was the best time to leave rather than having to face more visions of domestic bliss while he tried to figure out his own problems with Molly.

However, he was interrupted before he could excuse himself.

“You two ever going to have kids?” Harry asked. “Besides Alex that is.”

Sherlock frowned. “No.”

However, at the exact same time, Molly said, “Yes.”

Sherlock froze, turning to glance at Molly who’s expression of joy had faded quickly.

“Oh, er…I meant it would have to be considered,” she said with a nervous laugh. “It’s not all that important.”

Harry and Anna exchanged a glance, probably noting the awkwardness.

“Well, I think Anna’s parents just arrived. Probably going to want to see the grandbaby again as always. We’ll catch up soon.”

Sherlock’s mind was working madly, trying to put together the pieces that were suddenly fitting in a logical manner for once. Molly looking at a bigger place than her old flat. Molly telling him she wanted to do more with her life, saying “time is against me.” Molly talking with her best friend about how “this has always been my lifelong dream.”

Her discussing a man and saying he sounded perfect. There was no personal connection in how she described him, merely as an ideal specimen. Merely as an ideal father for her child…likely through a sperm bank…through artificial insemination. All the love Molly had showed Alex was still very much real. But it was in many ways just that that was causing the problem. Because Alex was making Molly realize how much she wanted children.

_It’s kind of nice being around kids…always thought I’d have them by now._ Her words echoed in his mind, confirming it for him. And while they’d never talked about it, Molly was likely aware he didn’t exactly enjoy children.

As he followed her over to where Alex was putting far too large a piece of cake onto his plate, he tried to regather his focus. But at the same time, he couldn’t think. The problem was too perplexing. It brought to question how devoted he felt to Molly. What she wanted was something he didn’t. And it logically made sense if that was the case they should end their relationship. But was logic what should rule him in this moment? Looking between the two people he’d come to care for most in the world, Sherlock wasn’t so sure of an answer. But he knew he needed to find one soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for follows, favorites and support! Keep it coming!
> 
> I have the most comments on this story of any of my others (including the one with the most followers). So thank you all for being so awesome and supportive. I’m so glad you guys have been so great in giving me feedback, it’s really helped me want to continue!
> 
> Thanks especially to commenters- JAT1891 and LiLaLo
> 
> You’re all awesome! Thanks again!
> 
> Might have a short break while I go on vacation next week. I don’t know that I’ll be able to take my laptop with me. I’ll try to update as soon as I can!


	18. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is posed with an ultimatum, has a four patch problem, and finds a case he simply can't solve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: character death, violence, etc. 
> 
> Thanks to all the awesome response I had, I decided to post one last chapter before leaving on a vacation. Here you are!

Sherlock initially thought he’d have to bring the subject up later. However, to his surprise it was Molly who did so that night in their bedroom.

“You know, that thing I said at the party,” she began, even as she pulled off her shirt, twisting it in her hands, with obvious anxiety. “I didn’t mean it. It just sort of…slipped out. Silly little thing wasn’t it. But enough about that, do you think Harry’s doing alright? Did you deduce any problems?”

“No, I think motherhood has suited her and Anna well,” Sherlock said. “And I think it would suit you quite well too, which is why I know you’ve decided to go through with that…hence why you’re moving out.”

Molly let out a long sigh. “How long did it take you to deduce that?”

“Too long,” Sherlock admitted. “I should have seen the signs earlier. But now I know. And I think we should talk about it.”

“There’s nothing to talk about Sherlock,” Molly said as she pulled a sleep shirt out of her dresser. “I want a child, you don’t. I need to start while I’m young, so the sooner I move out the better.”

“First off, I don’t like you assuming that I don’t want a child and second—”

“You’re not the only one who can deduce things, Sherlock,” Molly said. She turned to face him, brown eyes staring into his fiercely. “You go ahead and tell me truthfully. Do you want children?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “But—”

“But nothing. My assumption was correct as I knew it would be. I want a baby of my own, Sherlock. And I’m getting old. The fertility clinic already said there are risks, even though it looks like I should still be able to conceive. I need to do this now.”

“Show me the profile of the man you’ve chosen. You said he was a doctor,” Sherlock said.

Molly pulled back the covers and slid into the bed. “First off, I’m not doing that now. I’m tired, and I have an early shift tomorrow. Secondly, I’m not letting you get ahold of that to deduce all kinds of awful nasty things from the few facts on the page. I won’t have you spoiling this.”

“He could be a serial killer for all you know. He could be a pervert. He could have countless kinds of problems and you don’t even know it,” Sherlock said. “I don’t understand how you can trust a stranger to that sort of thing. Even if you’re moving out I won’t stand by and see you do something so incalculably stupid!”

Molly crossed her arms. “Sherlock, it’s not as though men are lining up at the door to date me. It takes time to find a man to settle down with and marry and start a family with. And I’ve run out of that. I’ve realized no one’s going to want me that way and so I’m taking the initiative myself. I’m having a baby. And that’s that. You’re not changing my mind.”

Sherlock stood frozen in the middle of the room. He supposed he hadn’t expected Molly to put up quite so much of a fight, especially when he was employing such easy logic.

“I want you,” Sherlock said. “I like having you here. I’ve said that. I will marry you if you’d like. And you’re a great mother to Alex.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Molly said with a huff. “I want my own. My own child. I know it sounds silly. And while I adore Alex and all, I still want more than that. I’ve dreamed of being a mother since I was little. I was always carting baby dolls around. And now I’m getting to the point of no return. I have to decide now. And if you don’t want children, then how am I supposed to stay with you?”

Sherlock still hadn’t moved towards the bed. Molly glanced from him to the light and back.

“Now, if you’re quite done, I’m going to sleep. Turn off the light if you would please? Unless you’re planning on sleeping too.”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. You’re not leaving because of something so silly.”

Molly’s eyes flashed. “It’s not _silly_. Plenty of people want to have children. It’s not my fault that you don’t.”

“I never wanted to have children because I assumed I wouldn’t meet anyone who would put up with all my issues, nor someone who I enjoyed the company of. I also assumed I would be a terrible parent,” Sherlock said.

Molly sat up a little straighter, her gaze softening some. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“I’m saying, I don’t know that my opposition is as strong as it used to be,” Sherlock said. “Let me look over those profiles tomorrow, and I’ll tell you what I think. If there’s an acceptable man in there, I’ll find him for you. Just please….please Molly don’t leave.”

Molly stared at him for a moment, clearly moved by the pleading that had just escaped his mouth. She let out a long sigh, considering.

“And what, I’ll have a child and—”

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow,” Sherlock said. “You’ve had a long day. Get some rest. I want a chance to think about this some. I don’t know that I would be completely opposed to you having a baby. I like Alex well enough, after all.”

“It’s a bit unorthodox doing this,” Molly said lying back down with a smile on her face.

“Aren’t we already a bit unorthodox?” Sherlock asked. “Besides, orthodoxy is for boring people. This makes life far more interesting. Another adventure.”

“You get some sleep too,” Molly ordered even as her eyes closed.

Sherlock watched her a moment then slid into the bed beside her, not even bothering to remove his clothes. He leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the lips. Her forehead wrinkled, but otherwise she didn’t stir. He rolled over to lie on his back, thinking about everything that had just happened.

* * *

 

 

“This one’s a complete moron,” Sherlock said, tossing the profile aside.

Molly let out a sigh and handed the next one. Sherlock scanned it and muttered out his deductions. Easy. This was too easy.

“Paedophile.”

“Oh come on, how can you even know that!?!” Molly demanded, snatching the sheet back.

“He rambles about children and how much he enjoys them and that being the reason he’s donating. It’s disgusting. Next please.”

Molly crumpled up the profile and handed him the next.

“Far too average.”

“Now you’re just making excuses,” Molly said. “What about the doctor I picked? The one who donates to charities and does cross country running in his spare time? You said he was decent?”

“He’s an idiot,” Sherlock muttered. “They’re _all_ idiots. None of these men are good enough for you.”

“Sherlock, one of them will just have to do. It will take months for you to find someone you’re even remotely satisfied with.”

“Then perhaps we just shouldn’t have you doing this at all,” Sherlock said. “It’s a poor idea really, trying to make an offspring with these ridiculous men. He or she will end up all wrong if we settle for this rubbish.” He tossed multiple profiles aside.

“Sherlock, I’m having a baby so you’d better just pick the least offensive,” Molly stated.

“Idiots the lot of them. What a stupid idea thinking this could work. No, we’ll simply have to give up.”

“Then I’ll leave and pick whoever I want,” Molly said, crossing her arms. “This is serious. Do you want me to stay or not?”

Sherlock sighed and slumped onto the sofa. He grumbled and rolled over so he didn’t have to look at her.

“Sherlock.”

“Thinking, be quiet,” he muttered, closing his eyes for a moment.

“They can’t all be idiots,” Molly said.

“Everyone’s an idiot to me, Molly.”

“So, you’re implying the only person smart enough to satisfy you for the job is you,” Molly pointed out.

Sherlock’s eyes popped open. “Oh.” He sat up and looked at her, cocking his head in thought. Molly stared at him.

“You seriously didn’t even consider that?” Molly laughed. “Oh my god, Sherlock. All this considering men and you didn’t even think about the fact that the orthodox normal thing to do would be to have you impregnate me.”

“It didn’t occur to me,” he muttered. “You were so set on your sperm donors…”

Molly burst into giggles, causing his scowl to deepen.

“Oh shut up, it’s not that funny.”

“Well, I seriously thought you’d just ruled that out immediately, given that you said you didn’t want children. And when you talked about it you simply said we’d go through with it but I’d continue living here with the child. I assumed the idea of having a baby with me bothered you, so you’d prefer another man to do the job,” Molly said, managing to contain her laughter, though still smiling at him.

“I…” he was speechless. “I…you…”

“Sherlock, I’m happy to settle for a sperm donor, I’m not pressuring you,” Molly said, coming over to sit beside the sofa, laying a hand on his arm. “But I am telling you right now that if they’re all idiots there’s only one man for the job. You’ll simply have to figure out which of those options bothers you more—me having a baby with an idiot, or me having a baby with you. Because either way one of those will happen.”

Sherlock’s mouth opened and closed a few times. His child. How he’d managed to ignore that possibility was strange. In many ways he’d assumed Molly’s choice of not telling him about the sperm donors had implied she didn’t want him to father a child with her. So he’d ignored the idea completely. It was an unknown territory for him, thinking of such domestic things. Picturing prams and nappies and family photos and being called daddy.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

“I…I…I would have to consider,” he said carefully.

Molly sighed. “I suppose I should have expected that. You gave me time to consider your proposal, I’ll give you time to consider mine. You have three options Sherlock. Option one: you decide fatherhood is something you’d like and since no other man can compete with your massive intellect, you impregnate me. Option two: You decide fatherhood wouldn’t be troubling to you, but that you’d rather not have your own offspring, therefore choosing another good candidate so that I can have a child of my own that you’d help me raise. Option three: you decide fatherhood just doesn’t suit you beyond caring for Alex, therefore I go find my own place and just come visit on occasion…or I suppose not at all if you’d find that preferable. Am I clear?”

Sherlock nodded. “How long do I have to think about it?”

“I’ll give you three months maximum,” Molly said. “And then I’m leaving.”

Three months. Sherlock sighed and pulled a packet of nicotine patches out of his dressing robe pocket.

“Sherlock!” Molly said, grabbing for them.

He snatched them out of reach. “Do you want me to decide or not? I would assume the sooner the better.”

Molly sighed and crossed her arms, staring at him as he carefully applied four patches to his arms.

“Sherlock just one or two, please.”

“Oh please, this is _obviously_ a four patch problem,” Sherlock muttered, sinking back onto the sofa and closing his eyes. “Now, a little silence please while I do some initial considerations.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Molly said with a sigh.

“Well then I’ll have my answer. Silence please.”

Molly muttered something that sounded like “and I want him to father my child, how silly,” and stalked off.

“Make some tea if you’re going into the kitchen,” he ordered, before sinking back into the sofa.

More muttering but he ignored it, sinking into his considerations, trying to determine if having a child was in any ways a good decision, or if the most logical pursuit would be to simply allow Molly to walk away.

* * *

 

 

The next three months he used up most of his nicotine patches. If ever there’d been a more perplexing problem it had been this one.

Every week or so Molly would ask him how he was feeling about it. Most often he wouldn’t have an answer, though occasionally he’d ask a question or two.

For example:

“Would we have to leave Baker street? It’s fairly small,” Sherlock pointed out at one time.

“Well, the baby could sleep in our room for a bit, probably be easier that way actually. And if it’s a girl I wouldn’t see it being problematic if Alex shared a room for a bit with her…when she gets older we’d probably have to move though, give the two some privacy and all. If it’s a boy I’d say not. No harm in the two sharing a room.”

Followed by:

“Do I have to be called daddy?” he asked.

Molly had sighed. “You let it call you whatever you’d like. If you want to be that weird first name basis parent, go ahead.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Sherlock had asked, feeling confused by the ambiguity of her answer.

Continued with:

“What if the child has some sort of developmental problem?” Sherlock asked.

“What is your point?” Molly asked. “That a child with a problem would be any less ours, any less something we could love? You’re not one of those eugenics supporters are you?”

“Eugenics poses a problematic solution,” Sherlock said. “After all, where draw the line? But honestly, getting rid of a few stupid people does sound somewhat ideal to me.”

Molly huffed and refused to talk to him for a week after that, until he apologized on the advice of Mrs. Hudson and said that he would love their child no matter what problems it might have.

By the time the three month mark was rolling around, Sherlock was beginning to notice Molly tensed up whenever he brought up new questions. She had started to become impatient, he noted, though he couldn’t see why some good questions were so problematic. But his final ones were some of the most pertinent, and he voiced them regardless of her anxiety.

“But what if it’s a sociopath like me?” Sherlock asked at one point.

“This is the real issue, isn’t it? It’s not about your responsibilities or anything,” Molly said, gaze softening as she walked over to lay her hand on his shoulder.

“I just don’t want him or her to…to deal with life the way I do. I don’t want her or him to have to…be hurt by people who don’t understand…be called a freak.” His throat felt too tight so he stopped talking, swallowing to try to ease some of the tension.

“I honestly don’t think you have to worry about that,” Molly said. “You’re unique, Sherlock, but I’ve never believed for one second you are a sociopath.”

“High functioning, but sociopath nonetheless,” Sherlock argued.

“No, you’re a wonderful, intelligent, gifted, compassionate, unique man who has a few social issues, maybe a few sociopathic behaviors, but I don’t think you should define yourself by that,” Molly said. “And if the child is anything like you he or she will be wonderful. Besides, you forget our baby would have half my genes to even things out. Make it a bit more of a moron.”

Sherlock smiled at that and leaned in to kiss her lips. “Then—all things considered maybe this isn’t such a poor idea after all. Molly Hooper, would you like to make a baby with me?”

She managed a smile even as tears began to course down her cheeks. Sherlock was put in the awkward position of wondering what he’d done wrong, gently reaching out to pat her shoulder.

“I’m sorry did you…should we just go with the idiot doctor? I…I thought you….”

“I’m happy you imbecile,” Molly exclaimed bursting into laughter even as she continued to cry. She threw her arms around him. “Oh Sherlock, I’m so incredibly happy. You’re going to be a wonderful father. You already are…but you’ll be even better…I…oh my god I can’t stop crying I just…”

“Go calm yourself down,” Sherlock said, hoping that wouldn’t set off any more tears or laughter or anything else. “Get a handkerchief or something and then perhaps we can discuss—”

He paused as his phone began ringing. With a sigh he glanced at the number and picked up.

“Hello?”

“Sherlock, so sorry to call you. This is Jenna, Ben’s mother? I wanted to ask if the boys have turned up at your place? Ben told me they were coming over here but he might have gotten a bit mixed up.”

Sherlock paused and glanced around the place. Alex’s things weren’t in the living space, but it was possible if he’d brought Ben home they’d gone straight upstairs.

“I’m going to check his room. Just a moment.”

Sherlock made a dash for the stairs. He popped his head into Alex’s bedroom, but as he suspected it was empty. He lifted his mobile back up.

“I don’t see any signs of them here. Let me check one last place and then I’ll know for sure.”

He headed down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson. She looked up from her kitchen with a smile, dusting flour off on her apron.

“What can I help you with, Sherlock? Everything alright?”

“You haven’t seen Alex at all this afternoon, have you?” Sherlock asked.

“No, I haven’t,” she said. “Is everything alright?”

“Just something odd happening,” Sherlock muttered. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

He walked back out, moving towards the stairs to avoid alarming Mrs. Hudson as he spoke to Ben’s mother.

“Our landlady hasn’t seen the boys either. Have you called Ben?”

“A few times, his phone is off which is strange. Maybe he just forgot to charge it last night?” There was a note of hope in her voice.

“I’ll call Alex and get back to you momentarily.”

He hung up and speed dialed Alex’s mobile.

“Hi this is Alex, can’t answer right now. Leave a message!”

The phone beeped and Sherlock ended the call. Odd. Alex knew better than to turn his phone off, and he was careful about charging it most every night. Sherlock had seen it plugged in the night previous, so he knew the battery life should have been fine. And besides, if Ben’s was off too that was far too big of a coincidence.

 _There’s no such thing as coincidences_ , Mycroft’s voice echoed in his mind.

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Molly asked as he came back into the living room.

“Alex said he was going to stay over at Ben’s place, right?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes,” Molly said, brow crinkling. “He did. What’s wrong? Why do you look so worried?”

He swallowed. “That was Ben’s mother. She says they’re not at her place. Both the boy’s phones are off.”

“Alex knows better,” Molly whispered.

“He does,” Sherlock agreed.

He took a moment to consider before pulling out the second phone he had taken to keeping with him at all times. He quickly dialed the only number on it. It rang a few times before Jim’s familiar voice came through the other end. He quickly switched to speakerphone so Molly could hear as well.

“Oh Sherlock, I’ve been longing for a call. Can’t believe it took you so long though. I’ve been so dreadfully bored.”

“Don’t play coy,” Sherlock snapped. “I know you have him.”

“Have who? Oh your puppy? Dearest me, I almost forgot. Yes, decided to take the liberty of borrowing him for a weekend. I think it will give us a good chance to catch up. It’s been ages since we had our last play time.”

“If you touch him, I’ll…”

“You’ll what? You know, if I were you I’d stop bluffing. You and I both know you’re not going to do anything. You can’t. You’ve lost your touch. I’ve been back in England for eight years now and you still haven’t caught up with me.”

There was a chuckle and Sherlock glanced at Molly who was becoming paler by the minute.

“If you have him, prove it,” Sherlock said. “For all I know you’re bluffing.”

Moriarty made a tisking sound. But Sherlock could hear him talking to someone.

“It’s for you puppy, be a good boy and say hello to Uncle Sherlock for daddy, hmm?”

Alex’s voice came through the phone.

“Sherlock,” he whispered.

And then the phone was pulled back.

“And Ben?” Sherlock demanded. “You have to have him too.”

“Tell him about Ben,” Moriarty ordered.

“Sherlock…Ben’s…dead,” Alex whispered.

That could be a bluff, but Sherlock doubted it.

“Yes, I’m afraid I do play a bit rough with my toys. Such a pity when they break like that,” Moriarty said. “Such fragile things children are. Brittle little bones, soft skin, lose a little blood and they’re just gone.”

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked. “Just tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

There was a low chuckle. “Oh Sherlock, all I wanted was to hear the terror in your voice. And you’ve already given that to me. Besides, I’ve heard you’re planning on replacing Alex soon anyways. Or isn’t that what that pretty whore is for? Making you another brat to enjoy?”

Sherlock gritted his teeth but didn’t give in to the taunts. Molly had a hand over her mouth. His mind was reeling, but he kept himself calm, focusing on steadying his racing heart, taking deep breaths.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. I’ll return him at the end of the weekend, just like I promised. Until then, no need to bother with anymore calls. I’ll give Alex your love.”

There was a click and Sherlock lowered the phone, well aware Moriarty wasn’t going to answer if he called again. He used every skill he had to try to gather clues, but there was very little to go on. From the sound of the echoes, they were in a small space with concrete walls, likely a basement. But that was next to nothing.

“Call Ben’s mother and tell her someone’s taken the boys. I’m calling Lestrade and he’ll look into it. But even if we find something I doubt it will do any good,” Sherlock said.

“He’s going to kill him, isn’t he?” Molly whispered.

Sherlock shook his head. “This isn’t his endgame. Even if he’s a lying snake, I think he’s telling the truth on giving Alex back. No, with everything he’s set up he can’t kill Alex.”

Molly raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know that for certain?”

“I’m aware of some information Moriarty believes I don’t know,” Sherlock said with a sigh. He pulled up Lestrade’s number. “And his plan doesn’t involve just killing Alex with no preamble. I can’t explain it now. You, call Ben’s mother now. It won’t do much good, but I suppose she’ll want to know.”

“Do I tell her he’s dead?” Molly asked.

“No, leave that to the police when the fact is confirmed.”

Molly nodded and went to find her phone.

As Sherlock dialed Lestrade’s number, he began to realize they were in for a very long weekend.

* * *

 

 

The call came in around Sunday afternoon. Confirmation that Alex and Ben had both been found, though Lestrade’s tone let Sherlock know immediately that Moriarty hadn’t been lying about the other boy’s state.

They’d spent the weekend hardly sleeping. They’d talked no more on their new plan, too caught up in their worry. Molly hadn’t wanted to go to work in case Alex might be found, but Sherlock kept assuring her that the best thing to do was take her mind off it. He in the meantime tried everything he could to find Alex. But he had no luck. Perhaps Moriarty was right. Maybe he was losing his touch. Maybe his newfound care for Alex and Molly had weakened his abilities in some way.

So the call from Lestrade was a relief. Realizing they didn’t need to wait anymore, worry, imagine what might have happened over the long period where Alex was with Moriarty.

He and Molly headed over to the hospital immediately to find out what had happened. Lestrade greeted them at the front desk.

“How’s Alex?” Molly asked instantly, twisting her purse strap as she stared off down the hall as though looking for her son.

“Catatonic. We found him with the other kid’s body in a back alley in London. Alex was covered in blood, but the nurse told me it looks like none of it is his.”

“Ben’s then,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade nodded. “We think so. Still testing, but the kid had apparently lost a lot of blood. At the moment that’s looking to be cause of death. Alex isn’t talking, and I don’t see him talking anytime soon.”

“Ben’s parents been called yet?” Sherlock asked.

Lestrade sighed and nodded. “Yes, gotta break the news to them soon. Was waiting until they arrived.”

Molly touched Greg’s arm. “Look, while we appreciate everything you’ve done, we’d love to go see Alex. Please, I need to see him myself.”

The police detective gave a half smile at that and then allowed them to pass, telling them where they could find their son.

The nurse’s face was enough to let Sherlock know that whatever they would find when they saw their son, it wouldn’t be good.

“Is he hurt?” Molly begged to know.

“No,” the nurse assured him. “Absolutely no physical damage. Whatever trauma he dealt with was clearly psychological.”

“Did you run a rape kit?” Sherlock asked.

She sighed. “We did a few quick scans and saw no signs of damage.”

“Thank you,” Molly said as Sherlock pushed past the nurse to go into the hospital room.

The detective froze as he saw Alex lying on the hospital bed in a gown, still and quiet. He didn’t look up when Sherlock came into the room, or when Molly followed close behind.

“Oh, Alex,” Molly whispered.

Sherlock felt like his chest was becoming tighter as Alex still didn’t react. Molly came over to sit at his bedside, reaching out to take his hand. Alex jerked away as though stung, finally lifting his head up.

“Alex, sweetheart, it’s me,” Molly said, giving a feeble smile. “You’re safe now. You don’t need to worry.”

“Molly,” Alex mumbled, blue eyes scanning over her.

“That’s right, sweetheart. That’s right.”

Alex opened his arms and Molly leaned in to pull him into a hug. Sherlock watched her eyes close, a tear roll down her cheek as she hugged him tightly.

Part of Sherlock wanted to reassure Alex. Part of him wanted to say things like Molly was whispering. But he couldn’t make himself lie. There was no truth in telling him everything would be fine. It was a lie to pretend Moriarty couldn’t do anything to him anymore. So Sherlock settled for coming to sit on the other side and rubbing Alex’s back.

This was merely one more factor in his decision with Molly. If he couldn’t keep Alex safe, what made him think his new child would be any different? Was bringing a baby into this messy world a good idea? Glancing at Molly still crying as she held Alex, he couldn’t answer that. Life was full of messy choices and problems. He’d just have to hope he made the right ones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for feedback from reesiesteve, kara, applejack0808, and Icecat62 (thanks to you for frequent reviews! Appreciate it). 
> 
> Had a question on my update schedule. I try to do once a week, but if I become busier or have writer's block it might be a little bit longer. Obviously sometimes I am very inspired and post more regularly. Comments help me feel more inspired. :) 
> 
> Anyhow, off for a week so I'll see you guys after that. Thanks so much for reading!


	19. Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock figures out pieces of what happened, he and Molly make several big decisions, and a piece of important news comes to the family.

Alex refused to talk no matter how much they pressed him. Sherlock had already realized this was a pointless pursuit and had long since resigned himself to finding his clues through other means. But Molly just couldn't seem to give up.

“But Sherlock, he needs to talk about it. He can't just bottle all of this up inside.” Molly glanced towards the living room from the kitchen, lowering her voice another notch.

Alex had been emotional and clingy. He’d been having nightmares almost every night, coming down at two or three in the morning to ask if he could sleep with them. Sherlock had to admit that whatever Alex was going through was no good.

“He can't but us pressing him isn't going to make it any easier,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Leave him alone and he will eventually come to us with what's wrong...with what happened.”

Molly sighed but he could tell she wasn't willing to drop the issue. “Fine, we will just have to send him to a therapist then.”

Sherlock didn't really care either way. He supposed therapy had its merits for people who actually had feelings to talk about, so he relented. He let Molly take Alex upstairs to have a chat with him.

Alex, however, threw a fit. There was a large amount of crying and telling Molly he wasn't crazy and didn't deserve to be treated like he was. Sherlock sighed and pushed into the conversation. While he normally trusted Molly to do a better job with Alex than he would, this was the one exception.

“Alex, you've been to therapy before and it was fine. Your father told me that you liked it and that it helped with some of the problems. Why was that any different than this?”

Alex sniffled, hugging a soft toy close to his chest. Sherlock sat down beside him.

“That was different. That was when I was a baby and I didn't know any better. I just thought he was some cool guy who let me come play with his toys and talk some. I didn't know that he was for crazy people!”

Sherlock sighed. “Alex, do you know who else has been to see a therapist?”

Alex shook his head, lifting his head up some, though still keeping the soft toy against his face.

“Your father,” Sherlock said calmly. “More than once. And he certainly wasn't crazy. He merely recognized that having someone to help with his problems was good.”

Alex's eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Molly offered a timid smile. “I did too. Just for a bit of support when I went through a few tough situations.”

“And so did I,” Sherlock said. “Though I didn't find it very helpful overall. Mostly that the therapist was quite incapable and I was being forced there by my parents and—”

Molly elbowed him.

He considered a moment before continuing. “Alex, when you broke your arm you went to a doctor who fixed it for you. If you felt ill you'd do the same. Hurts of the mind are the same way. Having an expert who can help you isn't a bad thing. You’re displaying symptoms—nightmares, crying, fear, and those all show you need help. Let’s just try this and see how it goes.”

Alex was quiet a moment. “I guess I'll go.”

Molly scowled. “Of course you'll go. It will be good for you.”

Of course, that set Alex off again. He started crying and complaining, and Sherlock had to ask her to leave to calm Alex down. What really ended up working best was simply wrapping Alex in his arms and telling him that therapy was going to help and that he would likely find that more helpful than anything else.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Sherlock said. “Not to us at least. But the therapist can help you deal with those problems. It’s going to be all right.”

That was a lie, of course, but in the moment that seemed to calm Alex down some. Eventually his grip on Sherlock relaxed some, and the detective persuaded him to lie down for a nap. His eyes closed from the sheer exhaustion of his emotional state. Sherlock pulled the blankets up around him before heading to the door. Molly was waiting for him in the corridor.

“Sherlock, I think I should show you why I’m going to insist he does therapy,” Molly whispered. “Do you think we can leave him with Mrs. Hudson for a bit?”

Sherlock nodded, too curious to possibly suggest otherwise. He followed her downstairs to tell Mrs. Hudson they were heading out before taking a cab over to St. Bart’s.

Sherlock knew Molly had volunteered to look at Ben’s corpse. And while it was likely a conflict of interest, Ben’s parents had agreed they’d feel most comfortable knowing she was looking after their son.

They stepped into the lab where Molly pulled out the corpse for him to look at with her.

“So, the initial reports had mentioned blood loss. Very true,” Molly said. “Quite a lot of blood was lost during his first few hours, from these cuts.”

She pointed out the several slashed wounds across various body parts.

“He was tied up,” Sherlock said, noticing the bruises on his wrists where rope had clearly cut into his wrists.

“Yes,” Molly agreed. “There’s precision in each of the cuts. They were performed carefully, no sign of hesitation. Most of them are quite deep. Whoever did this showed no signs of remorse…” she sighed and then pointed to a different shaped wound on Ben’s chest.

“This is cause of death. A single stab wound to the chest. It’s completely different. Shallower, clear signs that the person was shaking while performing the stabbing. Also the angle of entry and everything…” She broke off and quickly handed him her notes.

Sherlock scanned them, but it was easy to see she had drawn the same conclusions he had. He glanced between the words and the corpse. But the facts didn’t lie. Everything Molly had said was true. His jaw clenched as he considered the implications.

“And what are you going to do with this information?” Sherlock asked.

Molly bit her lip, glancing at the chart. “I’m going to ignore this,” she whispered. “I hate falsifying records, but....”

“But this information could hurt Alex,” Sherlock agreed. “And I understand now why you are so insistent on therapy. It still seems a bit silly, but I concur it might be for the best.”

Molly nodded and snatched the records from him. “I’m setting to work on it now. Could you please see if you can find out who Alex’s last therapist is so we can schedule an appointment?”

Sherlock nodded, heading off in order to allow Molly time to do her work. He was still trying to process the realities around him, still trying to figure out how Moriarty could possibly have done something so senseless and evil, and how they were ever going to put Alex back together.

A few weeks later they were sitting in the counselor’s office. Alex was already in a small playroom connected by a door. Molly kept giving Sherlock nervous glances as they discussed the issues of Alex’s future therapy.

“The issue of confidentiality can be a bit gray when it comes to minors,” the therapist told them, folding his hands on his desk and blinking through his spectacles. “But what I tell most of my clientele is that I prefer to maintain a normal level of confidence with the child in order to establish the best level of trust. Obviously, part of the reason a therapist can be so helpful for a child is that it provides an outside unbiased person to whom it can be easier to relate information. For that reason, I prefer not to give information back to parents.”

“I expect there are exceptions to that,” Sherlock muttered, trying his best to not feel bored, even as he drew up the little meaningless facts about the man in front of him. Nothing harmful about him, just dreadfully dull.

“Of course, Mr. Holmes. Any information about harming himself or others, I of course am required to tell you those things. And if Alex would prefer to relay information through me, I’m happy to do so. I might give you some tips if I have ideas for helping him, but no direct information. But if you are willing to agree to my terms I’d like you to sign an agreement to make sure this won’t become an issue later.”

“Of course,” Molly said, pulling the form from his hand, then handing it to Sherlock. She probably guessed he could read it more thoroughly than he could. “And you really think you can help him? It’s such an unusual case. I mean…most often kids just come in for social problems or problems at home, right?”

Sherlock scanned the document but saw no problems with it. While Molly probably disliked not knowing what was wrong with Alex, he didn’t think prying was necessary. As long as Alex had the support he needed, that was enough for him.

“Yes,” the therapist said. “This is an unusual case, but I’ve taken a wide variety. I don’t tend to limit myself. Now, a case with kidnap and potential torture by a megalomaniac? Not something I’ve faced. But I’ve worked with Alex before and we did well. The main thing is helping him overcome any trauma, stress, confusion about the events that happened before. If I have any real concerns I will let you know.” He paused and glanced between the two of them. “I’d also be happy to provide therapy for both of you if you have any concerns. Dealing with someone else’s trauma can be difficult.”

Molly hid a half smile fairly well, likely thinking how much Sherlock would hate that. “We will consider, thank you. In the meantime, we’ll be back in an hour to pick him up?”

“That’s perfect. Until then, we’ll see how our first session goes.”

Sherlock rose, eager to leave the place that reminded him far too much of his parent’s few pitiful attempts at “fixing” him. If it helped Alex, perfect. But he wanted little part in it.

“Thank you,” Molly said again as they headed to the door. Once shut she rounded on Sherlock. “Bad memories?”

“Don’t try to shrink me,” Sherlock muttered as he stalked to the door.

“Oh come now, you already admitted you’d been to therapy. I take it you weren’t too pleased with the results.”

Sherlock sighed but decided to just give in rather than allowing her to pester him for the rest of the day.

“No, it was the first time someone called me a psychopath. The man was utterly incompetent, he had no idea what he was even talking about. The only benefit was, I ended up reading up on psychopaths and ran across the idea of being a sociopath…and therefore figured out I was one.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly whispered. “How horrible.”

“And your therapist? For your self-esteem issues as an adolescent?”

Molly didn’t react to the comment. If it had stung her she didn’t show it, a surprise for Sherlock. She was growing more used to his barbed remarks apparently.

“No, grief counseling,” Molly said. She took a deep breath before continuing, “I went after my mother’s death. And then again after my father’s. It was…hard on me.”

Sherlock stood stalk still for a moment, and then slowly gathered himself again.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said. He leaned in and pecked her lips.

“It’s all right. It was a long time ago,” Molly said with a half smile. “Now, I’m off to work. You’ll pick Alex up in an hour?”

Sherlock nodded his agreement, and left to go do some casework. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so sharp with Molly. She’d only been trying to help, only been trying to see what had happened in his past to see if she could help. That was Molly, always wanting to help, always wanting to love. But where had her love gotten her before? Into grief counseling? Sentiment was a defect in some respects, and the more Sherlock allowed himself to feel, the more he felt this was the case.

* * *

 

Counseling did seem to help Alex in some respects. He began to become more sure of himself again. His teachers remarked that he seemed to be having an easier time in school too. The one problem that remained were the constant nightmares. And with Alex constantly coming to slip into bed with them, Sherlock and Molly had very little time to even begin thinking about the decision they’d made on having a baby.

The therapist recommended regular sleep hours, less snacking before going to bed, and trying to do something more relaxing before sleep. But even those few adjustments did little to curb Alex’s obvious fear. Sherlock finally had a lock installed on his door, thinking maybe then he and Molly could finally give things a go, without the fear that Alex would walk in on them.

What ended up working best in the end was asking Mrs. Hudson to watch him for a few afternoons.

“You two going out on a date, dear?” she asked when Sherlock proposed the idea.

“Of sorts,” Sherlock responded. “Actually, we…have things we need to get done upstairs without Alex interrupting us. It would only be for a couple of hours at most.”

Mrs. Hudson seemed to catch on after a minute, and suddenly she was chuckling hysterically.

“Oh, you two,” she said with a bright smile. “Can’t keep your hands off each other then? Just like me and Mr. Hudson back in the day. Oh I remember some of those hot afternoons in Florida when we’d sneak off. There was this boat we used to take out sometimes. I remember one time we were out there…he used to get so vigorous and we ended up capsizing. Oh and those evenings on the porch we would—”

“Well, yes, thank you Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade needs to see me immediately. I’ll just leave you to your scratch cards.”

She huffed but did fall silent on the scratch card comment, going back to her kitchen while Sherlock headed to the door, not eager to hear anything more about the late Mr. Hudson or his boat or anything else for that matter.

But it was settled. Alex would head to Mrs. Hudson’s, and the two of them would be left alone to their “work.”

Of course, as they sat on the bed together, Molly kissing him and asking why he was so tense, Sherlock was beginning to think. It was one of the times he truly wished there was an off switch on his brain. But even when Molly was trying to entice him, he couldn’t help but run through all the various possibilities, churn out idea after idea about what could go wrong with each scenario.

As Molly drew him down onto the bed with her, he began to truly question.

“What’s wrong?” Molly finally asked.

“I’m not sure we should do this,” Sherlock admitted.

Molly sat up and pushed him away from her. “If you’re having second thoughts lets have it out now. I’m not dealing with those once I’m pregnant. Now, what’s wrong?”

Sherlock sat up the rest of the way and sighed. “Molly, the whole reason we’re doing this in the middle of the day is because of Moriarty. It’s because Moriarty kidnapped Alex and traumatized him to an extent where he can’t sleep through the night.”

“So?” Molly said, arching a brow.

“So,” Sherlock said, choosing his words carefully, “is it a good idea to bring a child into a world where Moriarty has already proved himself capable of hurting and destroying? Can we risk that for our child? Can we both live with ourselves knowing we’re putting him or her in harms way?”

Molly sighed and moved a bit closer to take his hand. “Oh Sherlock.”

He swallowed. “I don’t know if I can do that Molly. I’m…scared…I feel scared for Alex. And I don’t know if I can be scared for someone else too. And you—what if he does things to you. He hasn’t yet, but he might. We’re in a rather precarious predicament at the moment. Perhaps this is all foolish…playing house while a madman threatens to ruin everything.”

She moved to lift his chin, staring deep into his eyes, hers showing no signs of the worry or fear he’d expected from her.

“What you’re doing right now is letting him win, Sherlock,” Molly said. “If we live our lives in fear of him he wins. He gets what he always wanted of ruining your life. You can’t give him that power over you, always looking over your shoulder, always wondering what he’ll do next. It’s no way to live.”

She sighed and he thought she was finished, only to be cut off by her voice rising a bit as she spoke on.

“Life is unpredictable,” Molly said, offering him a smile even as her eyes glittered with some level of care and warmth that he’d become accustomed to over the past few months. “If it’s not Moriarty it’s something else. People die, Sherlock. People get hurt. Someone will walk out a door one day and never come back the next. We can’t _know_ how life works or where it goes. That’s not something you can deduce or reason and trying to do so is only going to drive you mad. Please, Sherlock, if you can’t do this, I understand. But even if you don’t have this child…you need to not let him beat you. You need to not live life afraid.”

Sherlock smiled. His eyes felt a bit watery, but he refused to cry.

“I knew there was a reason I proposed to you, Molly Hooper.”

She laughed at that, even more so as he slid closer, arms encircling her comfortably. She felt right in his arms somehow. She really did suit him in some ways.

“And it’s the reason I’m going to make you the mother of my child,” Sherlock said.

Molly’s eyes glittered. “We’re in this together, Sherlock. Never forget that. You don’t have to fight this battle alone.”

He moved to kiss her, deciding they’d had enough words. Before he could lose his courage, perhaps trying for the baby would be the best. So, settling back to enjoy their reprieve from caring for Alex, the two of them set into their next task.

There was something pleasant in putting a purpose to what normally was assigned for pleasure. Sherlock found himself more motivated now than before, and he noticed that had added a little more happiness in Molly. She never complained, of course, but he sensed sometimes that she longed for more physical intimacy.

They were restricted some by having to work around work schedules and times Mrs. Hudson could watch Alex, but with everything Molly had told Sherlock from doctor visits, he wasn’t too concerned about needing excessive attempts. They had time, even if Molly worried on that some.

A few months later though, Sherlock was already picking up on the signs even Molly wasn’t aware of yet. Fatigue. A little dizziness. As Molly prepared to do some shopping one weekend afternoon Sherlock finally decided to break the news.

“Pick up some milk, please, we’re out,” Sherlock said. “Oh, but before you go…maybe you should try this.”

He handed over a small rectangular package. Molly studied it a moment, turning it over in her hand. She quickly seemed to realize what it was.

Molly had frowned. “Not possible I had mine about a week ago, Sherlock. We’re going to have to wait another month at least. When did you buy a pregnancy test?”

“Never can be too prepared,” Sherlock said. “As for your supposed cycle, spotting sometimes occurs in the beginning stages, not as heavy as your normal ones. You’ve had cramping in the last few days, not abnormal, but that combined with the dizzy spell the other day and the headaches.. You’ve been more tired lately. And your—”

“All right,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’ll try a pregnancy test. How early do they work?”

“Depends,” Sherlock said. “But usually a week will do it. Based on our last sexual intercourse, that should be about right.”

“And you know that how?” Molly asked, studying him critically.

“Oh you never know what information might be useful for a case,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

Molly crossed her arms. “Sherlock.”

He sighed. “All right, I read it on a website. Happy?”

She shook her head at that, but deposited her handbag on the table before heading to the bathroom. Sherlock moved to his feet, wondering how long he should wait.

Molly emerged with the plastic stick in her hands, still looking down at it. Sherlock felt his breath catch.

“Results of the test?”

“Not in yet. It takes a minute according to the packaging.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched and he did his best to take a deep breath. He was probably right with his deductions, but he had to be sure. He had to know for certain what was coming.

After a few minutes of waiting, Molly gasped and covered her mouth with one hand, staring down at the stick in the other.

“Positive,” Sherlock deduced.

Molly nodded, even as she began to tear up.

“Congratulations, Molly,” Sherlock said. He smiled and moved closer to wrap his arms around her in a tight hug.

“We’re having a baby!” Molly said with a laugh. “Oh Sherlock, we’re actually having a baby. It’s happening!”

“We might want to do a second test in a week just to make sure,” he stated. “Or go to a doctor for a blood test.”

“Shh, don’t spoil this for me. I’m enjoying the moment,” Molly said.

Sherlock managed to catch further comments, settling for hugging her and smiling and enjoying Molly’s obvious happiness.

* * *

 

After reconfirming with a second test, the two did begin to spread the news. But of course, Molly pointed out immediately that the first person who needed to be told was the one who would be affected the most.

“We have to tell Alex,” Molly said. “It’s only right. He’s going to be so excited.”

Sherlock nodded, though he found the telling people thing a bit silly, he supposed most people weren’t sharp enough to deduce it on their own. And Alex still believed storks brought babies or some nonsense of that sort, so he wasn’t just going to assume anything.

It was after he came home from school one evening. Molly snagged him before he could make his way up to his room. He appeared a bit tired, and Sherlock could tell it had been a hard day. Bad grade on a test probably. But Molly was not going to be deterred by that.

“Sherlock and I have some exciting news for you,” Molly said. She beamed at him from his spot beside her on the sofa. “You’re going to have a new brother or sister soon.”

Alex’s brow furrowed, and he looked at her first, then at Sherlock. “What?”

“Well, Sherlock and I decided we’d like to have a baby. It’ll be a while before he or she is born, but in a little less than eight months he or she will be here,” Molly said. “Isn’t that exciting?”

Alex continued to look confused for a moment, but after a long moment clarity seemed to strike him, before his mouth creased in a more obvious frown.

“I don’t want a brother or sister,” he said.

Molly’s smile faltered. “Oh, well, I know it will be a bit of an adjustment.”

“Send it back,” Alex ordered.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. So much for Molly’s idea working.

“Oh sweetheart, it’s a bit late for that. But I’m sure you’ll love him or her when it all happens. You’ll be a wonderful big brother and—”

Alex stood up and shot a hurt look at Sherlock. “I don’t want a brother or sister. I just want—I want—” he broke off with a sob and ran to the stairs.

Molly sat with her mouth open, staring at the chair where Alex had been seated.

“Oh god, I thought…I thought he’d be so happy. Did I…what…oh Sherlock, have we made a mistake?”

“Give him a moment to cool off,” Sherlock said. “We’ll talk to him when he’s in a more rational mindset.”

Molly nodded, but her set jaw made him think she wasn’t finished.

“I’ll be right back.”

She headed back towards their bedroom. Sherlock sighed and picked up her laptop to do a little more research on. He’d had little luck with the Moriarty case lately, but maybe there was something else interesting in the news.

He was drawn out of his thinking by Molly appearing back in the room. Glancing at the clock he saw that twenty minutes had amounted, even though it felt like less than five to him.

“Nice phone call?” he asked. “You’ve got an imprint from where you held it to your face. I know you’re upset, but do be careful.”

“Yes actually,” Molly said, folding her arms. “Talked with Alex’s therapist.”

“And what’s he have to say? Something about not being able to break confidentiality?”

“No,” Molly said with a sigh. “This is serious, Sherlock.”

He closed the laptop and looked up at her. “What?”

“He told me that adopted children more often feel…excluded,” Molly said. “Especially when there are biological children in the home. It makes sense really.”

“No it doesn’t,” Sherlock said with a frown. “Alex knows we care for him. Why do genes matter?”

“It’s just how he might feel,” Molly said. “How a lot of children living without their parents feel apparently. He said the best thing to do was to make sure Alex knows he’s supported and loved and to have a good chat with him about why we’ve made this decision, keep him involved and all that.”

“All right. Sounds good. Anything else or can I go back to reading?”

Molly pursed her lips. “Sherlock, you know…I can’t help but think he might be right. I think Alex really does feel like we won’t care about him as much as our own child.”

“It’s ridiculous, Molly,” Sherlock said. “Completely irrational.”

“Completely irrational when you’ve never _once_ said that you love him?” Molly countered, giving him a hard stare. “At least not in front of me you haven’t.”

Sherlock frowned. “I don’t see why saying one silly little word is so important. The idea of love is simply so imprecise. I don’t care to use it. It’s my personal choice.”

“Well, your personal choice probably comes across as not caring to your eight year old,” Molly said with a sigh. “He’s not old enough yet to understand things like that, Sherlock. He’s not like me. I don’t expect it of you. But he does.”

“And if I tell him I love him, all the problems will simply go away?” Sherlock asked, cocking his head at the idea.

“No,” Molly said. “But it might help. Please, Sherlock. Just go tell him.”

He sighed, but on considering what she’d said agreed that did seem like the most likely means of helping Alex at the moment. It was a bit ridiculous, but nothing else seemed like a possibility, and so that meant giving in and compromising on his own comfort.

Sherlock rose to his feet and headed towards the stairs. Molly didn’t move behind him, indicating to him that this was his own battle to fight. She’d already paid her penance in telling Alex of her love. It made sense she didn’t need to come, and he appreciated her respecting his privacy.

Alex was curled up in a ball on his bed. Though not asleep, he appeared to be resting, even though the red rimming his eyes showed Sherlock he’d been crying for a while.

“Can I come in?” Sherlock asked from the doorway.

Alex offered a single shaky nod before the detective walked into the room. He came over to sit at Alex’s bedside, reaching down a hand to rub along Alex’s spine, feeling every bit of tension that rested there.

“I think we need to talk,” he began stiffly. “Molly and I are worried you’re getting the wrong idea about the baby, Alex. We’re not having it because we don’t like you or want to replace you with our own child or anything like that. In fact, we care about you very much. But Molly would like to have another baby, and this is the most logical option and—”

He stopped, realizing his ramble probably wasn’t getting anywhere.

“The point is, this baby isn’t going to change how we feel about you, Alex. It’s not going to make me love you any less,” he swallowed at the word that he didn’t particularly care for. “I do love you, very much, Alex. You’re very important to me.”

Alex lifted his head slightly to look at Sherlock, eyes wide.

“When you were just an embryo, I promised your father I would look after you,” Sherlock said. “I promised I would always be there for you and your mother and father. And nothing has changed about that. I meant every word of it, even if the part about your parents no longer holds true, I can still honor my word in caring for you.”

Alex sniffed. “I just think you’ll like him or her more than me. It will be a better kid than me and you’ll not like me anymore.”

Sherlock smiled. “If it’s anything like me, then I assure you that you’re going to come off as the angel in this house. I was a total brat as a little boy. Wild and headstrong and stubborn. I don’t want a little clone of myself. In fact that has little appeal to me. All I can hope is that Molly’s genes are going to play a stronger part in this than mine. I know I will forever appreciate your kindness and strength and love, Alex. No matter what. You will always be a special person in this family.”

He smiled as Alex sat up to come sit in his arms, cuddling up against his chest.

“Besides, you’re going to be the best big brother there is,” Sherlock said. “How could I not love you for that?”

“I love you too, Sherlock,” Alex whispered.

“You know, before I had you, I didn’t think I could ever be a father,” Sherlock said. “You taught me differently. You made me see that wasn’t true.”

He glanced up to see Molly in the doorway. She offered a half smile before backing off, probably seeing he had things under control.

“I love you, Alex,” he said one last time, before settling into silence. Although he had long thought speaking of love was silly, he was beginning to see there was something beautiful in those simple words. Even so, it was pointless to over use them. So he settled for simply showing his love physical instead, keeping a firm hold on Alex, as his son eventually fell into one of his first peaceful sleeps in a long long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, hope that makes up for being gone so long. I really had wanted to edit this one last time, but it’s really late and I am determined to get it up before I go to bed. Spent too long editing vacation photos today. Had a great vacation, but it’s good to be back home with my computer and my writing. Also, I made a Tumblr, so feel free to find me on that. I listed myself on my profile so you can find me more easily.
> 
> Baby name guesses/suggestions are welcome at any time. Love hearing what other people think Sherlock or Molly might name a kid. I have some ideas of my own of course, but there is actually an element of Q & A to all this (sorry my nerdy Sherlock Sign of Three quoting coming out). 
> 
> Thanks to Icecat62, reesiesteve, and deby for several fantastic comments! Always appreciate the feedback!


	20. Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock deals with Mycroft, throws a party, and tries to figure out another important step as a parent.

He really should have anticipated it. But somehow Sherlock was still annoyed when he showed up after a case to find a familiar car in front of 221 B.

He gritted his teeth before heading up the stairs, pushing the door open to stare at his brother standing at the window.

“Mycroft,” he muttered, moving over to sit on the couch. “Get out.”

“Not until you explain to me how the accident happened?” Mycroft said, turning to look at him. “As an intelligent person, you should have been aware to use protection.”

“What are you blathering about? Get to the point!” Sherlock snapped.

“I presume you’ve begun looking into options?” Mycroft said, he moved over to a chair and sat, still giving Sherlock a fierce glare as he did so. “You can’t wait too long you know. I’m sure you can persuade Molly. After all, she wouldn’t want you to leave her, now would she? So I think she’ll put up with putting this little _mistake_ aside. I’ll pay for everything of course.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, trying to figure out what nonsense Mycroft could possibly be talking about, when it suddenly hit him.

“How the _hell_ do you even know about it?” Sherlock demanded. “We’ve only told one other person so far.”

“Oh don’t be stupid, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a wry smile. “I monitor you well enough to know you bought two pregnancy tests. The only reason you’d need two is to make sure there was no mistake. And I am aware Molly has been suffering some nausea and dizziness in the last few weeks. Or am I mistaken?”

“She is pregnant,” Sherlock said. There was no denying based on Mycroft’s research. “But your delusion about us having a mistake in our hands is quite false. Molly and I are both quite happy about it. Or don’t you do your research well enough to know Molly stopped going to pick up her birth control at the pharmacy in the last few months.”

Mycroft sat there for a moment. It was the closest to stunned that Sherlock had ever seen him.

“And _why_ did she choose to do this? Were you aware of her decision? I would hope your observation skills haven’t shrunk that low,” Mycroft sneered.

“Unlike you, some of the rest of us like the premise of having people around us we love,” Sherlock said. “And while I have been dubious about domestic life before, I’ve actually come to find it suits me quite well. And I’d like to continue that with a child of my own.”

Mycroft let out a short bark of laughter. “My god, Sherlock, you’re serious? You raising a child?”

“You forget I already am, Mycroft,” Sherlock muttered. How much more of this would it take to convince Mycroft to leave?

“A boy, not a baby,” Mycroft pointed out. “Or don’t you remember how John hardly let you near Alexander right after his birth. And if you’re being honest, you didn’t care much for being around him either. All the screaming and messy diapers…is that really what you want?”

“You don’t know a thing about what I want,” Sherlock said. “Now leave, before you piss me off even more.”

Mycroft sighed and rose from his chair. “And when will we be receiving the happy announcement then?”

Sherlock shot him a glare, effectively silencing him. Mycroft went to the door, Sherlock waiting until he was all the way down the stairs before finally sitting back on the couch.

Mycroft did have a point. He did find infants rather appalling. No capabilities to reason or act independently. They were helpless fragile little things that smelled and cried. What was he getting himself into?

Just as he was beginning to have his doubts, however, Alex appeared in the doorway.

“Sherlock!” he cried, breaking into a bright smile.

Over the past few weeks Sherlock had noticed a gradual improvement of Alex’s mood. Therapy did seem to be doing the trick, even if there were still moments Alex had nightmares or seemed to become somewhat clingier than normal.

Alex ran over and launched himself into Sherlock’s arms, quickly squeezing the detective in a tight hug. Sherlock was incapable of withholding a smile as he pulled Alex to him, moving one hand up to ruffle through his soft blond hair.

“Good day I take it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “Got a really good mark on my test, and the other boys said I should be captain of the football team next term.”

“Impressive,” Sherlock said, even if those things didn’t mean much to him. “And you’re ready for your Taekwondo lesson in an hour?”

“Hmm…can we practice?” Alex asked. “I really want to get my purple belt soon.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said. “Go get changed and we can do a little warming up.”

“Sherlock?” Alex said, pausing in the doorway. “Do you think the baby will want to do Taekwondo with me when it’s older?”

“I can’t speak as to what he or she will be interested in, Alex,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Now go on, go put your uniform on.”

Alex shot him a grin before heading up the stairs two at a time from the sound of it. Sherlock sank back into the couch. Well, he’d done better with John’s son than he’d ever expected. So it stood to reason that the same would be true with his own. Perhaps he would be a decent parent. If nothing else it would be fun to prove Mycroft wrong. Again.

* * *

 

 

Sherlock was in a state of dread already, and he still had two hours until it happened. If only he hadn’t allowed Mrs. Hudson to goad him into this, everything would have been fine.

He still remembered it. Not too long after Molly had told her, she’d pulled Sherlock into her kitchen and started lecturing him about taking good care of Molly.

“Whatever she wants you give her,” Mrs. Hudson had chided him. “You need to be as supportive and caring as you can, Sherlock. Honestly, if you aren’t she’s going to never want to have sex with you again.”

He’d been half tempted to tell her that wasn’t that big of an issue for him, but she’d continued on without giving him a chance.

“Molly’s such a lovely thing. You need to be so good to her Sherlock. Anything she wants,” Mrs. Hudson had insisted. “You don’t say no to her, you hear me?”

And he hadn’t. Even when Molly had told him instead of a shower she’d rather have all of their friends over for a party to make the announcement about the pregnancy.

“Isn’t the whole point of showers to get gifts for the baby?” Sherlock had asked.

“And to spend time with people you love and celebrate the happy occasion, for me I’d love my guy friends to be there too,” Molly had added. “Oh please, Sherlock, this is what I want. Before I’m feeling all fat and ready to pop. We can have gifts after the baby’s born. It will be better that way anyhow, since we’ll have the gender later so we can have people buy gifts for the right one (I don’t care all that much if our son has pink things or our daughter blue, but people are silly that way).”

Sherlock had just remembered what Mrs. Hudson had said and reluctantly agreed. He hated the thought of putting on a party of all things, but for Molly he’d put up with it. Even with all the silly pomp and circumstance and traditions with which people liked to surround births.

Hence why at five there there was a knock on the door before it was pushed open and a skinny extremely tan whisp of a woman stalked in, putting her hands on her hips and glaring around the flat.

“Well this is going to take for frickin ever,” the woman muttered, sighing as she opened her purse and pulled out her phone. “I told you we should have just done this at my place.”

“Pleasure to see you again too, Meena,” Sherlock said. “Still sleeping around with that married man I see.”

She glanced up and shot him a glare. “If you’re listening in on Molly’s conversations you need to stop. It’s seriously rude.”

She pursed her lips, emphasizing the dark red shade she’d chosen to paint them.

“No, you just might want to discourage him from grabbing your arm so hard during sex. I can see the imprint of his hand when your sleeve rides up, and I can make out the ring too,” Sherlock said.

Meene glared at him as she reached to tug a sleeve down one of her far too skinny arms.

“Charming,” she sighed. “I have and always will tell Molly she’s an idiot for settling with you. After all the other men who are interested in her, she picks some loser.”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I believe the point of this is about Molly, not our feud. Now, perhaps we should focus on readying ourselves for the party rather than arguing about ourselves.”

He’d initially thought Molly and he would be running the party together. But unfortunately once Molly had told Meena (apparently best friends were under some sort of obligation to tell each other things first), she’d demanded Molly let her run things, especially if she wasn’t going to have a shower. Which had left Molly scooting to the side and telling Sherlock he could help out. All in all it was a terrible idea really. But the more he could make Molly happy, the better things would go in the future—or so Mrs. Hudson had made it sound.

Meena pursed her lips and glanced around the flat. “Well, at least it looks like you cleaned recently. Though the floor could do with one last sweeping.”

“I’ll get that done while you fix the place up how you think it should go. Mrs. Hudson should have most of the food up right before the party starts.”

“And invitations? You invited everyone?” Meena asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I invited Lestrade, Alex’s aunt and her wife who Molly has become closer to in the last few years…mmm…a few other people I think…oh my parents of course.”

“Good, and I invited all of our close friends,” Meena said. “I tried contacting her brother and sister, but they both live too far away. But it should be a good sized group.”

Sherlock nodded, trying his best to not give way to the panic he was feeling. Why did people insist on doing these ridiculous things? Why couldn’t Molly have simply settled for having some gifts and calling it good?

“I’m so angry Molly isn’t doing a shower. I had great plans for the gender reveal. Now what are we going to do?” Meena demanded as she started furiously pushing the chairs into the corner, showing surprising strength considering her tiny size.

“Not make a big deal out of pathetical things,” Sherlock suggested.

“Oh sod off,” Meena growled. “You’re telling me you don’t care whether it’s a girl or a boy?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “It doesn’t make any difference.”

Meena let out a harsh laugh. “Are you joking? Sports and toy cars and scraped knees vs. hair bows and dolls and princesses? They’re completely different worlds.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “Those are stereotypes and social constructions. Molly and I have both agreed the child can do whatever it wishes.”

“Weirdoes,” she muttered. “If I was going to have a kid I’d want a girl. Much easier. But you’ve already got some bratty boy from what I hear.”

He whirled around suddenly, facing her and trying his best to consider his actions even as he wanted to do something very rash.

“Don’t you ever say anything bad about Alex again,” Sherlock snapped. “I’m sure if Molly heard you say that she’d be equally angry.”

Meena just rolled her eyes. “Whatever. He’s her stepson. Once she has her own baby it’s all going to change.”

Whatever Meena thought of her best friend, Sherlock was confident she was wrong. All the evidence pointed to the contrary. Molly spent so much time with Alex, loving on him, cuddling him, telling him how much she cared about him. She went to all of his football games. She helped him with studying. Sherlock wasn’t even sure if it was humanly possible to love someone any more than Molly did Alex. And he certainly didn’t think her having a baby would change that.

He went back to work sweeping up the floor before proceeding to help her move the furniture around a bit. She had started working on blowing up some balloons and hanging some streamers. It didn’t take long to transform the small flat into a festive celebration area.

“Do you have a good cover story for the decorations?” Sherlock asked. “Because otherwise Molly will have to announce from the first minute people walk in the door. And I believe she wants to build anticipation a bit.”

Meena sighed. “Er....it’s your son’s birthday?”

“We had that last month,” Sherlock said. “And most of them will know that.”

“Fine, what about your birthday.”

“Nope,” he said popping the p noisily.

“Well the best thing to do is stick close to the truth when telling a lie,” Meena said.

Sherlock cocked his head a bit, studying her closer. Maybe there was something nice about this obnoxious woman. “Excellent point.”

“So Molly can say she’s found a new job. Not entirely untrue.”

“She’ll go back to working after maternity leave,” Sherlock said. “I guarantee it. She enjoys the work too much.”

“Being a mother is a job whether she has a paying one or not,” Meena snapped. “So regardless she’s just earned a new job. As have you.”

“We already have one child,” Sherlock reminded her again.

“Yeah a kid is child’s play compared to a baby—” She frowned on realizing that had sounded odd. “Never mind, the point is you’ll find out what true parenting is in the next few years. Guarantee it. Now, if you’re quite done bothering me with stupid little details go make sure the food is ready and bring it up if it is. We have fifteen minutes until guests start showing up and Molly should be here with your brat—I mean kid any minute.”

Sherlock’s hand twitched, and he debated if he’d have enough time to murder her and hide the body before anyone turned up. It was certainly tempting. For Meena he felt like strangulation might just be the best method—

His thoughts were interrupted by Molly appearing in the doorway.

“Oh it looks lovely!” she exclaimed.

But while Molly seemed captivated by the room, Sherlock couldn’t deny himself a lingering glance at Molly herself.

Pregnancy glow. He knew of course that it was merely the hormonal changes producing a bit more oil on the skin. Thus far she hadn’t suffered too many problems with blemishes, but Sherlock was expecting them to come. Regardless, the scientific explanation didn’t do justice to the extra beauty it gave Molly. Though most of that was probably due to the obvious joy in her face, the way her eyes had lit up, smile brightening into the most brilliant he’d seen on her.

She was wearing a dress that he knew had to be new—in fact based on the price tag she’d forgotten to snip off, that really was the only good explanation. Dark green, nicely suited to her slim frame and small curves. Her makeup was light and her hair was down. He felt a bit stunned looking at her.

“It looks lovely,” she said with a smile his direction.

“Yes, er…I need to go fetch the food, I’ll be back in a moment.”

He pushed past her towards the kitchen, especially glad of the task when Meena ran over cooing at Molly and pulling her into a tight hug. How Molly could stand the other woman he wasn’t sure. But the sooner this whole thing was over the better, in his mind.

Alex was already helping Mrs. Hudson finish up the last touches on the different dishes she’d prepared. He offered a warm smile as he saw Sherlock in the doorway.

“You ready?” he asked.

Sherlock shrugged. “Possibly.”

“I can’t wait to see everybody’s faces when Molly tells them! It’s going to be so funny!” Alex said. “Is Mycroft coming?”

“No,” Sherlock said. “Or I would assume not. I could call him, but I imagine he’ll simply tell me that this isn’t his thing. He hates any occasion that might give people the slightest hint of joy.”

Alex giggled. “Does not! He can be nice sometimes.”

“Hmm…” Sherlock said with a frown. He had to disagree.

“He’s your brother, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “He might rub you the wrong way, but you can’t try to pretend you don’t like him.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed even more.

“It’s okay, we’ll have a great party without him,” Alex said as he took one of the trays. “Come on, Sherlock. Let’s go get the food setup before people get here.”

“He’s right, you go on up, Sherlock. I’ll be up with the punch in another few moments.”

Sherlock scooped up a platter of biscuits and another one with vegetables and headed to the stairs.

Meena had already started some music up and he walked into the still very empty rooms to find Molly helping her pick out some choices for further music selection.

He set the dishes on one of the tables and went over to her.

“Are you ready for this? Anything else you’d like me to do?” he asked her.

“No, it’s so wonderful! Oh, Sherlock!” She pulled him into a tight hug. He stood there stiffly for a moment before giving in and wrapping his arms around her.

“Anything for you,” he said, remembering Mrs. Hudson’s advice again.

Molly pulled back and pecked him on the lips, before giving him the most adoring smile.

“Ew,” Alex said to the side, sticking out his tongue. He hadn’t been given much of a chance to adjust to the idea of them using physical affection with one another.

“Oh you be quiet,” Mrs. Hudson said, having come up with the bowl of punch. “I think it’s darling when they kiss each other. Now, is everything in order, Sherlock? Anything else you’ll be needing?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No, I think that’s about everything.”

“Well, I’ll go wait at the door and let people up. You let me know if there’s anything else you need. Do you think there’s enough to eat?” Mrs. Hudson said, glancing fretfully over the table laden with various types of food.

“I think it will be splendid, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly said. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll be downstairs. Call me if you need something!”

She headed back towards the stairs. Sherlock continued staring in her direction.

“I think we broke her,” Molly whispered.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed. “Are you ready for your big announcement?”

Molly laughed. “ _Our_ big announcement,” she corrected. She pulled his hand down to put it on her still relatively flat stomach. “It’s _ours_ Sherlock.”

“Yes. Do you want me to say something?” he asked. He did his best to keep his expression neutral, even as his brain began to work frantically to construct something to say if he should have to.

“No, I’ll manage,” Molly said. “But thank you. I appreciate the offer.”

There was a noise from the doorway and they spun to look. Molly’s brow furrowed slightly as she found the source of the noise.

“Er…did you invite him?” she asked.

Sherlock glanced at Bill Wiggins who was standing a bit awkwardly near the door.

“You said to invite people I generally tolerated.”

Molly rolled her eyes but nonetheless strolled over towards him.

“Billy, it’s good to see you again!” she said.

“It’s good to see you too,” Billy said, glancing around. “Not much of a party yet now is it? You still waitin’ on some people?”

“Oh we’ve only just started. Go ahead and grab some food,” Molly offered, never losing her smile. “How are you, you have to tell me what you’ve been doing lately! It’s been a while since we last saw each other.”

“Yeah. You done a nice job a cleanin’ up in ‘ere. Looks good.”

“Yes, thank you,” Molly said.

She headed off to the food table, still chatting with him, asking him something about chemistry and if he’d done anything interesting. Sherlock’s attention had refixated on the door where his parents were coming through.

“God help us all,” he muttered as he headed over in their direction.

“Oh Sherlock! My boy!” his mother said, coming over to put both hands on his face and smiling up at him. “What’s the special occasion? Are you finally going to set a date?”

She winked at him and Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

“Hmm? Oh Molly’s got herself a new job. She’ll explain all of that I’m sure, lots to talk about and all that. But for the moment I’m sure she’ll just be glad you’re here. Why don’t you and father go find something to eat and drink.”

“Oh but I’m sure you have so much to tell us. It’s been a while since we last saw you what with you opting to not come to Christmas this year.”

“On second thought, why don’t you go say hello to Alex. I’m sure he’ll be delighted since it has been so long,” Sherlock said quickly. “Best idea actually.”

His mother seemed to catch onto that idea rather quickly and was soon going towards Alex instead. Sherlock was relieved that Alex at least was being quite receptive and friendly as he normally was.

“Sherlock.”

He spun around to see Lestrade in the doorway.

“So, what’s this all about?” he asked, surveying the room that was slowly filling up with people. A few more of Molly’s friends had appeared, all of whom had started congregating around her.

“Oh, it’s just Molly wanting to celebrate getting a new job,” Sherlock said, wondering how long they could really keep the ruse up.

“She’s leaving Barts? Cor, that’s going to be strange. I’ll miss seeing her!” Lestrade said.

“Indeed. Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Blimey, Molly taking another job. What’s it in? Where’s she going?”

Sherlock sighed. “I’m sure she’ll say. She wants to make a little announcement about it at some point.”

“Oh yeah, makes sense. Say, who’s that bird Molly’s talking with. The skinny one?

Sherlock looked over and frowned. “Meena?”

“Yeah. You gonna introduce me? I wouldn’t mind chatting her up.”

“She’s appalling,” Sherlock muttered. “And sleeping with a married man.”

Lestrade sighed. “Yeah, guess you’re right. She’s pretty tidy though. It’s been too long.”

“It was a week at most since you picked up some girl at a bar, really, Lestrade, stop thinking with your d—”

“Sherlock, can I go help Mrs. Hudson!” Alex chirped to his side.

Sherlock groaned. “Yes, go help her. Did you get tired of my mother bothering you?”

Alex frowned. “Yeah, sort of. Sorry.”

“No, I understand. Go on. Go help Mrs. Hudson for a bit and I’ll deal with her.”

He apologized to Lestrade and headed back over to his mother, though she had apparently started talking to Bill in his absence.

How long did these things last? Sherlock glanced at his phone for the time, trying not to let out a noise of disgust upon seeing barely a quarter of an hour had passed.

A few more guests had turned up. Most of them Sherlock didn’t know. The one exception was Anna who came by with baby Ella for a bit. She told him Harry had opted to stay home since she didn’t really care for parties. Sherlock of course, realized that this was to avoid drinking since she’d apparently been struggling more recently, but he let Anna get away with the lie.

He was relieved, of course, when Molly finally called the guests into a circle around her and began her big announcement.

“So, I’ve called you here to celebrate something very exciting with me,” Molly said, raising her glass with a smile. He wondered if she was intentionally trying to show she’d chosen the virgin punch rather than any of the alcoholic options.

“So most of you have probably been told by now, since most of you asked, that I am getting a new job. And that is very true.” She smiled at them all. “Now, this job probably sounds terrible from the description. It’s ridiculously long hours. Night shifts especially for the first year or so. I basically will be in charge of the whole operation myself, though I will have one solitary coworker to help out a bit. Possibly an assistant too.” She looked towards Alex at that, though no one seemed to realize she was intentionally pointing him out. “And to be honest, no one is going to pay me a pound. In fact, I’ll be spending money on supplies and other expenses and I won’t make it back.”

Everyone was staring at her, a few people attempting to whisper and failing to do so quietly.

Molly took a deep breath. “Now, what is this job you might ask? Well, I think there’s only one word that describes it the best, though you could include quite a few others. In the next few years I’m going to be a nurse, a chauffeur, a maid, a caretaker, a mentor, and a supervisor…all while maintaining my position at St. Bart’s. To put it as simply as possible—in about six months I’m going to be a mother.”

There was an uproar at the announcement. His mother practically began sobbing at the news, saying it was too good to be true and she was finally going to be a real grandmother. Mrs. Hudson had let out a little squeal of delight, clapping her hands at the news. Lestrade looked like he might pass out at any moment, and the rest of Molly’s friends seemed equally startled. Only Bill Wiggins looked bored. Standing there seeming a bit lost with all of the other people he didn’t really know.

Alex had thankfully managed to snag Sherlock’s parents, probably just looking for someone to share his own excitement with, bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy.

Which left Lestrade to make a beeline for him.

“You’re bloody joking. You two are having kids? I mean seriously?” He stared at Sherlock searching his face for signs it was a trick.

“Yes, we’re having a baby,” Sherlock said.

“God. That’s going to be interesting,” Lestrade muttered. “At least you’ve got Molly as the mum. She’ll do great I’m sure.”

“If you’re implying I’ll be a bad parent, you should remember I’ve already done quite well with Alex,” Sherlock muttered.

Why was everyone treating this as though something was new? There was no difference in raising his own child and raising Alex. He would do just fine either way.

“Oh, yeah, well…still,” Lestrade muttered. “Anyhow, congrats and all that.”

Sherlock handled Mrs. Hudson next. The woman seemed to have gone half hysterical, laughing and crying and wanting to hug Sherlock in her joy. Even though they’d already told her, apparently all of the revelry had made her overly excited and a bit emotional. Sherlock did his best to try to calm her down, wondering if there was an easy escape.

But she was soon pushed to the side by Mrs. Holmes.

“I am so glad I got one of you to listen to me,” she said. “If Mycroft won’t have children at least you will. I’d honestly started to lose hope. Thank heavens for that wonderful woman you ended up with. She is just lovely, Sherlock. You’ve done so well.”

The praise felt unnatural to him, so he did his best to wave her off, asking to be allowed to go see Molly instead.

She beamed at him from the circle of her friends as he approached. He moved so that he could stand beside her, taking her hand so as to give himself an excuse to not be torn away from her.

Molly pulled him in for a quick kiss, causing several of the guests to wolf whistle in response. Sherlock’s cheeks felt a bit hot when he pulled away.

“Well, what are we all standing around for?” Molly asked suddenly. “We have a party to celebrate? So grab some food and drinks, and then let’s start dancing!”

Sherlock’s head jerked up. He hadn’t even considered that, but it made sense. They did have music, and the furniture had been cleared out of the way.

There was a resounding cry of approval, and then someone cranked the music up. Molly took Sherlock’s arm and led him away from a few people.

“I know you like to dance,” Molly whispered. “I remember you telling me. Plus this discourages people from bothering you. And your parents might leave.”

“I thought you liked my parents,” he said.

“Oh,” she paused and looked thoughtfully over at them. “They’re lovely people. But I know they bother you. It’s better if they leave early in that case.”

He smiled. “More reasons I like you rather well, Molly Hooper.”

“I’m aware of that fact, Sherlock Holmes,” she said with a smile. “Now, dance with me!”

Sherlock gave in easily, moving in rhythm with the music around them, finding himself back in the relaxing state of concentrating only on movement and beat. A state of euphoria washed over him, even more so somehow when he looked at Molly. She appeared to be so happy in the moment. He recalled the last time he’d seen her dancing, at John’s wedding all those years ago. When he’d wanted to go dance with her, but couldn’t because she’d been with Tom at the time. But now it was just her and him. The two of them readying themselves to face the world together as parents.

 

* * *

 

“That was such a lovely party,” Mrs. Hudson commented the next morning as she helped Sherlock and Molly rearrange their sitting room back to how it had been before.

“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed, thinking of the time he’d spent dancing with Molly, forgetting for a bit that there was a troubled world outside of 221 B. It had been the most pleasant night he’d had in a long while. Probably his favorite part of the night was Meena coming up to him and admitting she’d been wrong to him, saying she was glad Molly was happy and all she wanted was to make sure Molly had a good life. That had been a nice triumphant little moment, almost comparable to the euphoria of being able to dance for a bit.

“So, what’s its name going to be?” Mrs. Hudson asked.

Molly turned a quizzical stare her way. “What’s name?”

“Oh the baby, dear? What are you going to name it if it’s a boy or if it’s a girl?”

Sherlock frowned at that, but let Molly handle things.

“It’s a bit of a ways off,” she said. “We haven’t really started talking about it.”

“Oh you can never start too early,” Mrs. Hudson said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You can think you really know and love someone until you start talking baby names and realize you have none in common that you like.”

Molly glanced at Sherlock with wide eyes.

“We’ll manage, Mrs. Hudson,” the detective snapped, eager to be rid of her lest she worry Molly even more. “Now, don’t you have some other menial tasks to be doing?

She frowned at him. “Mark my word, Sherlock. You two could debate the issue for a year. And you only have half of that. I’d get going as soon as you can.”

With that she left at a brisk pace, leaving Sherlock to shake his head.

“Maybe she’s right,” Molly said, sinking onto the sofa. “Maybe we should start discussing.”

“Discussing baby names? We don’t even know the gender. It’s the size of a chicken’s egg right now. We don’t have anything to worry about.”

Molly’s teeth worried her lip. “And if you had to name it right this instant, what name would you choose?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Well, I do rather fancy the idea of giving the child a unique name.”

“Such as?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “I suppose a namesake couldn’t hurt either. What about Aristotle?”

Molly blinked a few times. “For a boy?”

“For either. We could call a girl Ari if you it needed to be more feminine.”

“God she was right,” Molly muttered, moving to lie down. “That’s a horrid name, Sherlock. I don’t care if he started the idea of deductive reasoning, we’re not naming our baby after some ancient philosopher.”

“Really? Oh well I was also thinking Archimedes or Galen.”

Molly shook her head, making a face.

“Fine, a more modern scientist then perhaps. Albert…or Dmitri….”

“And if it’s a girl?”

He pursed his lips. “Well there’s Marie obviously, though I dislike that as a name itself. Hmm…Lise Meitner, I don’t mind that as a first name. Different. Irene.” He blanched as he realized the name he’d just said. “No, forget that one, awful. Can’t stand it. Hmm…Dorothy Hodgkin—”

“All I can think of is _The Wizard of Oz_ when you say Dorothy,” Molly said with a frown.

“Rosalind Franklin,” Sherlock said. “The name Rosalind is a bit…flowery…but it has a nice sound to it.”

“Best of the bunch, I agree,” Molly said. “Still not probably my top pick.”

“And if you had your top pick, what would it be?” Sherlock asked.

She sighed. “Well, I’d love to name a child after one of my parents. My mother was Audrey, and my father was Richard.”

Sherlock sighed. “Well, it appears we do have some differing opinions. What about…Hamish for a boy?”

Molly made a face, though after a moment it softened as she remembered. “Hold on, that’s _John’s_ middle name isn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded.

“It truly is an awful name,” Molly said. “What about John if it’s a boy?”

Sherlock hesitated, but did finally answer. “It would be…too strange for me. Calling a son by his name.”

“Middle name then perhaps,” Molly suggested. “I’m happy to stick it as a middle name since he did name Alex after you. Even if it’s a girl we could make it Jeanne or something. I’m sure we can figure something out. So Rosalind Jeanne if it’s a girl then?”

“Perhaps,” Sherlock said. “Audrey Jeanne Holmes—or are we going to use Hooper…or hyphenate?”

“Holmes,” Molly agreed. “So your family doesn’t die out. Mine can go through my brother.”

“I don’t know that those old traditions are that important,” Sherlock said. “But still, Holmes has a nice sound to it. Audrey Jeanne Hooper. But we’re still at a standstill on a boy. I really prefer not to use the name Richard for a first. Maybe a second would be acceptable.”

“But then you can’t use John as a second name,” she pointed out. “I won’t have a baby named Hamish. I’m sorry Sherlock. It’s just too nasty. John would agree you know.”

Sherlock offered a half smile. “No, it’s true. He hated it.”

Molly thought a moment and then laughed. “Oh my god, I have a good thought though. Tell me what you think.”

She leaned in and whispered into his ear and his eyes widened in surprise.

“Hmm…that just might work. Maybe.” Sherlock looked at her and was unable to keep from smiling. “We’ll make this work. No matter what name our little Holmes gets stuck with. He or she is simply going to know that you are a wonderful and thoughtful mother. And in the end that’s what matters most.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now would be a great time to toss any of your own baby name suggestions/ guesses into the ring. Not quite sure how quickly the next few parts will go.
> 
> Thanks to Icecat62, reesiesteve, and deby for commenting! Keep up the awesome feedback, it feeds my muse! :D
> 
> Anyhow, thanks guys! Hope to hear some great baby name thoughts from you!


	21. Twenty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock tries to utilize his mind palace, there is continued arguing on the name issue, and the two make an important visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured a short update was better than no update. Sorry it's not as long as the last few chapters. Will try harder on the next ones!

 

“Sherlock,” Molly called from the sitting room. “Sherlock, where are you? I thought you said you were home from your case?”

“In the bedroom,” he managed to say, though he clenched his teeth as he lost his concentration.

He heard her footsteps across the floor and then she was poking her head in the doorway.

“What on earth are you doing? Sherlock, I just cleaned in here!”

“Hmm? Oh Mrs. Hudson will tidy it up after I’m done,” he said, flipping another page. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind I need to go to my mind palace.”

“For what?” Molly asked, but Sherlock had already descended.

He opened a drawer and looked inside. Molly’s friends’ names. He could clear those out couldn’t he? Without a second thought he cleared it and began stacking new information inside. Basic development could fit here nicely. Probably just the first year, but that would do. Now, what else could he delete in here?

“Sherlock, please answer me. What are you doing?” Molly asked.

He exited the palace and came back to himself, finding Molly still staring at him.

“I’m storing useful information,” Sherlock answered.

“On…?” Molly stared around at the piles and piles of books.

“I would think it is fairly obvious,” Sherlock muttered. “Now, unless you have something very important to tell me, would you leave me to absorb this?”

After a moment’s silence, he glanced up to find her still looking at him.

“Are you not feeling well?” Sherlock asked. He shot to his feet. “Molly, are you all right? Is there something wrong? I know the second trimester is supposed to be the easiest but still—are your gums bleeding? Are you experiencing any pain or discomfort? Miscarriages are still possible before week twenty or is it—”

Molly put a finger to his lips. “Calm down. No, I’m perfectly fine. Yes, everything has been easier so far. So no, you don’t need to worry. Sherlock, I think it’s wonderful you’re taking an interest in…better educating yourself…it’s just that this looks a bit…” she hesitated and took a deep breath, “extreme.”

“Extreme? What’s extreme? I’m not extreme! I’m being perfectly reasonable,” Sherlock snapped. “I’m encountering a new situation and I’m gathering information to support future decisions and potential complications. How is preparing a problem? Everyone always complains when I act in spontaneity, but now when I decide to do my research it’s an issue?”

Molly sighed. “How many books did you buy today?”

“Picked up every one at the bookstore. Some are comlete rubbish though,” Sherlock said, spinning to snatch up a copy that he shoved into her hands. “This is laden with oldwives tales. Thankfully a few have been based on more scientific information. Hence why I picked up so many, to root out the fabrications.”

Molly stared down at the cover with a picture of a diaper clad baby. _Everything to Know as a Parent_. She smiled and looked back up at him.

“Continue then,” Molly said. “But I hope you kept that receipt, because we are not keeping useless baby books.”

“Oh of course,” Sherlock agreed. “I’m taking them all back once I have them in my mind palace.”

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sherlock, there is something called a library you know.”

“More inconvenient. Besides. I’ve been banned at the closest library. That nasty old woman who works there knows me on sight I’m afraid.”

“I’m not sure if I want to hear that story or not,” Molly said with a smile. “Regardless, don’t overstress yourself please, Sherlock?”

“I won’t. I just need to read thirteen more books and possibly browse a few websites for supplementary information if necessary.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “Sherlock, please just promise me you’ll get some sleep tonight. Or find a case. Or something other than reading baby books all day. For heaven’s sake, I’m supposed to be the mother. Why don’t you leave some of the worrying to me?”

“Because any number of things could go wrong!” Sherlock said. “Five percent of women are diagnosed with preeclampsia! Almost twenty percent end up with gestational diabetes…or what if it’s an ectopic pregnancy and the egg has implanted outside of the uterus—”

Molly made a shushing noise. “Sherlock, I’m sure the doctors will warn me if there are any complications.”

“Doctors are idiots,” Sherlock muttered. “Perhaps you and I should run a few early tests?”

She let out a sigh and approached, crouching down beside him as best she could.

“Sherlock, you do realize people went thousands of years without any of this information, don’t you? Women used to do this themselves, no hospitals, no medications, nothing but their own bodies working the way they’re supposed to, behaving naturally,” Molly said.

“And plenty of those women died in childbirth,” Sherlock said. “And if something goes wrong with the pregnancy…I’d rather be prepared. Do we need to buy you a body pillow? You need to be sleeping on your side, and this book recommends using a body pillow.”

She leaned over to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Sherlock, I’ll get by. Now, you finish cataloging information and come be a good father and help me do some crib shopping.”

He muttered under his breath before nodding. “Fine. Half an hour?”

“Yes,” Molly agreed. She rose back to her feet and walked to the door. “Sherlock, please don’t stress yourself. This isn’t worth that.”

“Of course it’s worth that,” Sherlock said, shooting her a critical look. “This is our child we’re talking about, Molly. Everything needs to be perfect.”

Molly started to step out the door and then stopped. She looked back over her shoulder. “Sherlock, store this in your mind palace please.”

“What?” he asked, glancing up from his latest information binge on baby healthcare.

She smiled. “I believe you’re going to be a great father. In fact, you already are.”

Without another word she went back into the hall, heading towards the kitchen. Sherlock sat silent for a moment, thinking. After a long consideration, he went back to his palace, walking along the drive, entering into the front door, gazing around at the various chests and cupboards and places he’d set up for storing information.

He walked up the stairs and started looking through drawers. There was too much information that he felt he needed. He walked over to a cabinet and opened it.

Memories hit him. John’s smiling face was there. His quirky comments. Those early cases where they were just starting to know each other. The later ones with the familiar comforting presence of John beside him. Sherlock felt his throat start to tighten up, a few tears were there in the corner of his eyes. He closed the cabinet, and ran a hand over the smooth wood. It was tempting to linger there, but he couldn’t.

No, this room was fine. The information in here was good. He looked towards Molly’s cupboard he’d set up recently. No, he wanted this. He’d simply have to try to make more room. There had to be room. He squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to envision. After a moment he opened again. Another door appeared to the side.

Sherlock went and walked through, finding himself in a fairly plain nursery. He walked over to a dresser and opened the top drawer. He began filing the information in. But alongside what he’d already learned, he inserted the memory of Molly tell him he was going to be a good father. She was right, it was probably a decent idea to keep that in mind even as he did his best to remember everything important.

 

* * *

 

 

“What about Scarlett?” Molly asked.

“Isn’t there some dreadful book or movie with that woman’s name in it?” Sherlock said with a frown.

“Oh _Gone with the Wind_ , dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked from the kitchen. “I’m surprised you know about that.”

“Yes well, I suppose I’m simply trying to be aware of potential name flaws,” Sherlock muttered. “Lets name our daughter something more creative than a color.”

“I didn’t mean naming her after anyone,” Molly said. “We don’t have to have every name be after someone you know. Were you named after someone?”

“Yes actually,” Sherlock said. “Some great grandfather or other. William something. I don’t particularly care. Anyhow, continuing in Holmes tradition I suppose.”

“William?” Molly said.

“Yes, William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” he said with a sigh.

“How did you end up going by your middle name?” Molly asked, with a smile.

“Yes, Sherlock, how did that happen?” Mrs. Hudson inquired.

“It’s a long story that involves years as a brainwashed little boy wanting to be like my brother,” Sherlock muttered.

Mrs. Hudson giggled in delight. “I knew you couldn’t completely hate him. Nothing better than a younger sibling trying to be like the older one. You watch out for that, Alex. Your little brother or sister will probably want to be just like you.”

Alex looked up from where he was lying on the sofa with his nose buried in a book. “That’ll be good. The baby could use a good role model.”

Sherlock just sighed and went back to his pacing. “What about Florence?”

“A bit old fashioned, don’t you think?” Molly countered. “Lily?”

“I’d rather not make it overly flowery. We want a daughter to be well respected.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said, shaking her head and sighing. She sat back in her chair, putting a hand back to her stomach that was just starting to swell.

“Margaux,” Sherlock said.

“No. Anna.”

“Absolutely not,” Sherlock said. “Maevis.”

“So, when do you two learn if it’s a girl or boy?” Mrs. Hudson asked. “Since you’re only arguing girl ones right now.”

“Next week,” Molly said with a smile. “We’re going in for our scan and we’ll let the doctor tell us then.”

Mrs. Hudson clapped her hands and giggled. “What about if it’s a boy?”

“Oh, Sherlock is already set on what he wants,” Molly said with a smile. “Though we’re still discussing options just in case. I’m set on Nickolas at the moment. Very handsome and dignified…but yesterday I told him Dante was a unique option. And he replied—”

“There are better writers to name our child after than the one who perpetuated the ideas of the fictional realm of hell,” Sherlock muttered.

“What about Benedict?” Molly asked. “Elegant, handsome.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed. “There’s something about that name that simply speaks to me as a no. Benedict Holmes. No.”

“I think we should name him Arthur,” Alex said, looking up from his book. “And if it’s a girl it should be Guinevere.”

Sherlock turned to blink at the boy, examining the book he was holding: _The Once and Future King_. Of course, Arthurian myths.

“Oh so naming a child after a king isn’t bad enough, it has to be a _fictional_ king,” Sherlock muttered.

“You’re one to talk, _William_ ,” Molly said with a smirk before mouthing _be nice_.

“We will consider those names,” Sherlock said, frowning as he turned to pace the length of the room again. “Why are we even bothering? We still have months. There’s no reason to worry all too much. Once we find out what the sex is we will have half as many options which will be nice.”

“Well, then we can discuss it again in a week,” Molly said. “It’s true, a name isn’t all that important anyhow. A rose by any other name, right?”

Sherlock tilted his head. “A what? I thought I said no flower names.”

Molly just shook her head and smiled at Mrs. Hudson. “If you were going to name a child, what would you name it, Mrs. Hudson?”

“Oh, Andrew for a boy and something pretty for a girl…like…Louise!” Mrs. Hudson said. “Oh I’m sure he or she will be lovely no matter what name you choose. You two are going to be so perfect. Why I just can’t help but picture John’s face if he saw you two—”

Sherlock rounded on her. “Would you make our tea and leave please? Molly and I are trying to have a conversation?”

Mrs. Hudson frowned but hurried to the stairs. Sherlock stared in her general direction before turning and pacing the length of the floor again.

There was a sigh and then the sound of a book snapping shut.

“You shouldn’t be mean to Mrs. Hudson,” Alex said. He shot a glare at Sherlock before heading back towards the stairs as well.

“He’s right you know,” Molly said. “She doesn’t mean to upset you. She was trying to compliment you.”

“She didn’t need to bring him up,” Sherlock said.

Molly sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Sherlock, she’s just trying to help. She wants you to know how wonderful you’ll be as a father. Now…what’s really going on?”

He hesitated. Should he tell her? Was that the right thing to do? Instead he shook his head.

“I just…miss John,” Sherlock said quietly. “I need him here. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want his help with this new adventure.”

“He was a good man, and it’s understandable to miss him,” Molly said. “But you can’t take that out on Mrs. Hudson or Alex or me. John would never want you to do that.”

Sherlock was silent, but after a long moment he nodded. She was right. As always.

“Please, Sherlock. I know how much he means for you. I’ve already promised you his name,” Molly said. “But you can’t act like this just because he’s not around.”

“It was my fault,” Sherlock said. “I made a mistake and I still haven’t rectified it. Moriarty is still at large.”

He swallowed, thinking of the doppelgangers Moriarty had left again on the anniversary of John’s death a man, boy, and pregnant woman. He wondered if next year there would be a dead baby in the mix. He shuddered at the mere thought.

“John knew you were only human,” Molly pointed out. “Please, Sherlock. You can’t get bogged down in that again. I need you here with me right now. Here for me and the baby. Please.”

The room fell into silence again. Sherlock stopped pacing, stood still, trying to settle his restless brain. He kept wanting to think through this. But perhaps Molly was right. Maybe he just needed to stop thinking.

He went over to her chair. She gave him a hesitant smile, though he could still see the concern in her eyes. He moved to kneel beside her, laying one hand on her baby bump and the other coming up to touch her cheek.

“Thank you, Molly.”

Sherlock moved forward and gave her a soft kiss. Molly’s lips moved against his in a light smile. Her arms encircled him as best she could.

When he pulled away she took a moment to look into his eyes. “Everything is going to be all right, Sherlock. John would want you to be happy. Please be happy for him. And for me.”

“I’ll try,” Sherlock said. And he meant it.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, by that next Wednesday morning he’d pretty much forgotten. He was unable to sit still as he watched the doctor come in and put gloves on.

“And how are we today?” she asked the two of them.

“Wonderful,” Molly said. She was beaming.

“And how are you Mr. expectant father?”

“Better than the woman who is in major credit card debt,” Sherlock muttered, silenced only by Molly’s glare in his direction.

“All right, should we take a look at the little one?”

She gelled up the probe. Sherlock was watching her every move, trying to deduce if there were any problems with her medical training. He wished he’d read more on ultrasounds. Why hadn’t he thought of researching that? How idiotic!

“It’s going to be a little bit cold, and maybe a little uncomfortable when I press in some places, but otherwise it shouldn’t hurt,” the doctor said before pulling up Molly’s gown. Sherlock watched as she pressed the probe against the skin. She moved it around a bit, turning her eyes to the monitor and watching carefully until she was satisfied.

“Oh look at that,” she said with a smile in their direction. “That’s your baby!”

Sherlock glanced at the screen, taking in the vaguely baby shaped form. Something about it felt truly unreal. He’d known for four months now that Molly was pregnant, but just looking at a small bump and dealing with some symptoms had never felt like this. He swallowed and gazed at the small form, trying to remember to take deep breaths.

“Everything is looking normal,” the doctor said. “A perfectly healthy little baby. Now….did you two want to know the gender or would you rather have it be a surprise?”

“I would like to know the _sex_ now,” Sherlock said.

Molly rolled her eyes at Sherlock’s term correction. “Yes, I want to know too.”

The doctor smiled and pointed at what looked like a misshaped blob in Sherlock’s opinion. How people could read these things was impressive. He had no idea what he was looking at. No power of observation seemed useful in these circumstances.

“Well, you two are going to be having—” She paused and smiled.

Sherlock sighed. Why did people feel a need to build up suspense for these things? He just wanted to know what he was having. It would allow him to limit some of the scope of his research. Not to mention, help with the still continuing name game that Molly could not seem to abandon no matter how many acceptable names he gave her. She had mentioned something about a list for heaven’s sake.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy,” the woman said.

Molly put a hand to her mouth, eyes tearing up. Sherlock gave his own smile, though his mind was already reeling. A boy. Had he been hoping for one or the other? He didn’t really know. Perhaps he’d thought a girl might be more naturally like Molly. He needed to look into genetics a little more.

But a boy did sound wonderful in some ways. They both did. There were advantages and disadvantages, and no amount of calculations could tell him if one would have truly been better than the other. He just had to hope Molly felt the same way.

“Oh Sherlock,” she whispered. “He’s so beautiful.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Molly, beauty is a social construct, and besides, he’s still in the womb. You can’t possibly know he’s beautiful.”

Molly sighed. “Must you take everything so literally? Sherlock, he’s beautiful because he’s ours and he’s real and he’s healthy and he’s…everything I ever wanted. Oh Sherlock, look at him. Look at his tiny fingers and his little heartbeat and…” She broke off and let out a soft sob.

The doctor smiled. “Shall I turn it off then?”

Molly shook her head. “Just a bit more, please. I just want to look at him a bit more.”

“You’ll have a picture of the scan too, of course,” the doctor promised. “And you can look at that all you want.”

“Oh we’ll have to put it on our mantle,” Molly said. “After we show Mrs. Hudson and Alex and everyone else.”

Sherlock stared at the little baby’s form, watched as he moved slightly, and did his best to contain the strange tears that seemed to be trying to get to him more and more often. No matter what he had tried to tell himself before, looking at the fetus—no his son—in the image, Sherlock knew nothing would ever be the same.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Tons of great suggestions! Hope I covered at least one name per person in this chapter. Also, if one of the characters criticized your name suggestion, don't feel offended! Just Sherlock being picky and Molly making his life difficult. Personally I loved most of the names!
> 
> Thanks to reesiesteve, Icecat62, Danielle, and lilsherlockian1975 for commenting!
> 
> Seriously, comments are half of what inspire me to keep going, so keep up the great feedback guys! It’s driving me to finish this thing! I want to say we’re maybe reaching the halfway mark, but I’m not sure. Sometimes brilliance strikes me in the middle of the story and makes it longer. Anyhow, until next time!


	22. Twenty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock reveals some interesting information about his childhood, Molly sends Sherlock out on a mission, and another case from the Consulting Criminal makes it's way into the lives of the Baker street clan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter. Hope that makes up for the slightly longer periods between updating.

“Sherlock!” Molly yelled from the bedroom.

His head shot up from his current preoccupation, a new experiment he was attempting with a few more harmless chemical compounds. He set the beaker back onto the kitchen table before bolting in the direction of her voice.

Molly was laying in bed. She’d been a bit more tired with the long shifts at St. Bart’s, but so far she had refused to leave work. Sherlock knew better than to argue of course. She was staring down at her stomach, mouth open and eyes wide.

“Molly, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked. “Is everything all right? Do I need to go to the hospital with you? Is the baby having problems?”

“Oh shush,” she said, and then motioned him closer. “Come sit on the bed.”

Sherlock advanced with his heart still pounding. He wasn’t sure why Molly couldn’t simply explain the problem to him. That would be so much more efficient. However, perhaps she preferred him deducing it. So he sat on the edge of the bed.

Molly grabbed his hand and brought it down to her stomach that had swelled considerably as she reached towards the next trimester. Sherlock tensed and waited, trying his best to gather every minute detail that might help him determine what the problem was.

However, before he could ask a single question, a small movement disrupted his train of thought, bringing his attention back to the hand Molly had pressed to her stomach. He waited another moment and then felt the same indescribable motion a second time.

“He’s kicking,” Molly whispered with a smile. “I thought something must be wrong, he’s hardly moved at all.”

“Well, he wasn’t very big before,” Sherlock said. He was searching his mind for information on development. “Movements are one thing, but kicking wouldn’t start happening until later. Other movements can be harder to determine. Sometimes they pass as flatulence or other bodily functions.”

Molly giggled and released her grip on his hand, though he refused to move it away from where she’d first placed it. He was unable to pull back, wanting only to have a moment more of experiencing his first reaction with his son.

“Well, I suppose he’s going to be a wild little thing now,” Molly said, smiling down at his hand.

“And why would you make that assumption?” Sherlock asked with a frown, still waiting in hopes of feeling yet another kick.

“Because he’s yours,” Molly said. “And let’s face it, Sherlock, you can’t sit still for five minutes.”

“I actually can thank you very much,” Sherlock said, eyes snapping up to stare into hers. “Honestly, why does everyone comment on my regular movements? I simply like being up and about. Sitting quiet just has never really suited me.”

“Precisely. Bet he’ll be just like that.”

Sherlock muttered an argument, but really decided he couldn’t come up with anything intelligible and finally fell quiet. Their baby had stopped moving, so he withdrew his hand.

There was a noise at the door and they turned to see Alex standing there with Toby.

“Is now a bad time?” Alex asked.

“No, sweetheart, come in,” Molly said.

Alex smiled at her and came over to sit on her other side with Toby still snuggled in his arms. Molly wrapped an arm around Alex and reached over to pet the cat who began purring as soon as she did. Sherlock still hadn’t figured out how Molly and Alex had the magic touch with the ridiculous cat, but somehow both of them could make him very happy. All he did when Sherlock touched him was hiss. Maybe his son would be a dog lover…

He fell silent when Alex asked what they were doing. Molly smiled.

“Sherlock was just feeling the baby kicking for the first time. He’s been a little more still, but if you put your hand here and wait a bit, you might feel him too.”

Alex’s eyes widened comically, and he immediately set his hand on her stomach like she’d indicated. Molly waited a moment, and then there was a jump from Alex who quickly pulled his hand back.

“That’s the _baby_!” he said in surprise. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but we’re glad he’s healthy,” Molly said.

Alex stared at her a moment longer, still in disbelief that she was experiencing such a strange feeling. He started biting his lip as he stared down at Molly’s stomach.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” Molly asked, still stroking his hair.

“What…what if he hates me?” he whispered.

“Why would he hate you?” Molly asked. “He’s going to be your brother, I’m sure he’ll adore you!”

Alex didn’t answer, merely looked at the bedspread. Sherlock thought he saw tears glistening in Alex’s eyes.

Molly sighed and pulled him a little closer, causing Toby to give her a disgruntled look and jump off the bed.

“Please tell me, darling. Whatever’s wrong I want to make it better.”

Though Sherlock didn’t particularly want to get involved, he had to admire the way Molly handled it. Her love for Alex had been helpful. She was more willing to dive into these issues than he ever would be. Her arm squeezed a little tighter. Alex glanced towards Sherlock, and for a moment he wondered if Molly would ask him to leave.

“Well, Sherlock hates Mycroft,” Alex said. “So maybe my brother will hate me too.”

Brown eyes narrowed into a glare in his direction. With an eye roll he quickly made his corrections.

“Alex, when Mycroft and I were little the only animosity between us was Mycroft’s superiority complex. I, on the other hand, might have…liked him quite a bit.”

There was a moment of silence before Molly smiled.

“You’re joking.”

“No, completely serious,” Sherlock said. “I was the typical younger child in that respect. I wanted to be just like Mycroft. Picked up violin because he was playing the cello. All that nonsense.”

“What happened to you two then?” Molly asked, eyes narrowed.

“Long story really, but it had something to do with my growing awareness that I wasn’t in fact an idiot as he’d implied. And most of it stemmed from him going off on his own and forgetting me for a while. By the time he wanted back in my life…well I’d found other more interesting forms of comfort.”

Molly shot him a look, so he stopped before he could really describe the drugs.

“The point is I found Mycroft quite tolerable for a while,” Sherlock said. “And I’m sure Molly can tell you she liked her siblings too.”

“I love my brother and my sister both,” Molly said. “Though I know there were moments both of them annoyed me. You have _nothing_ to worry about, Alex. I’m sure he’s going to adore you.”

Alex gave a half smile before snuggling closer to her. Sherlock was just about to wrap an arm around the both of them when a crash echoed from the living room.

“Well, I can tell you who’s most upset about the whole thing,” Sherlock muttered. “I’ll go clean up whatever that ridiculous cat broke. You two enjoy your cuddle.”

“No, come give both of us a hug and then go clean up,” Molly ordered.

Though he was reluctant to do so, Sherlock did finally move in to give the both of them a light hug before springing up.

“Only time he’s in a hurry to clean up,” Molly whispered to Alex.

“I heard that,” Sherlock said, though he didn’t argue. It was true after all. But things were changing. A new adventure was starting, and he needed to be ready for it.

* * *

 

 

His eyes scanned over the map. He had to put it away. It just a pity every bit of storage space seemed to be full. What could he remove? Were there useless memories still tucked around somewhere? This was crucial right now, he needed this.

There was a noise outside. He sat up straighter, listening a moment, processing the resonance and noticing the small facts that put an image into his mind. Cab outside on the street, someone getting out. There was a large pause between the opening and closing, so someone who needed more time. He glanced at his phone, the time was correct.

Sherlock shot to his feet and rushed to the door. He passed Mrs. Hudson before going to the front door and opening it just in time to find Molly trying to come in. He looked her over to make some quick deductions. Nothing appeared to be wrong.

“Here, let me take your things,” Sherlock said, snatching her bag before helping her out of her coat. When he had both in one hand he reached out the other to take her arm. “How was work? No problems I presume.”

“Fine,” Molly said with a sigh allowing him to keep a grip on her arm, even as her other went down to rub at her back, arching slightly so that her large belly stuck out even further.

“I really think you ought to give it up,” Sherlock said. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

“Next week,” Molly said, not able to hide the sharpness in her tone. “We’ve talked about this, Sherlock. Bart’s is short staffed right now after we had someone quit and one of our other employees just got fired. And besides, the longer I hold out, the longer I can be home with you and the baby…or have you forgotten your little panic attack a few days ago thinking of being home alone with the baby?”

“Hmm? Oh that was just a brief moment of concern, everything will be fine.”

Back up in 221 B Sherlock forced Molly to lie down on the sofa. He pulled off her shoes and pushed a pillow behind her head.

“Are they hurting?” he asked, pointing to her ankles.

“They’re a little swollen, but I tried to sit more today.”

Sherlock put his hands on her feet and started working the flesh. Molly moaned and let her head fall back.

“Sherlock, I’d tell you stay off the internet, but apparently there are a few benefits.”

“What are you talking about? I learned this from a masseuse while I was on a case.”

Molly sighed, but if she didn’t believe him she didn’t protest, so Sherlock merely smiled at his own lie and kept going.

After a moment, Molly looked up, glancing towards the side of the room Sherlock had been occupying earlier. She frowned and squinted.

“Sherlock, what is that?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, don’t worry about it,” he said, continuing to rub her feet.

Molly sighed and sat up further. “Sherlock, is it for a case? I’ve asked you not to tape things to the walls please.”

“It’s necessary,” Sherlock said.

“So, for a case?” Molly asked.

“No, it’s necessary,” Sherlock repeated.

Molly pushed his hands away and rose to her feet. She pushed past Sherlock to go over to the wall, staring at the map of London full of scribbled lines and two circles, one around 221 B and the other on Bart’s.

“What on earth is this?” Molly asked.

“Just a little practice. Need to be ready after all.” Sherlock went and sat on the sofa she’d abandoned, looking at the floor rather than at her.

“Sherlock, are you stressing out about the baby again? Because if you are you know you can always talk to me or Mrs. Hudson or Greg or anyone else. This is going to be all right, but I don’t want you doodling crazy maps and—”

“It’s just to determine the fastest route to the hospital,” Sherlock said. “We can’t know precisely when the baby will be here, so I’d like to be sure I know of every plausible route and the best ones depending on what hour your labor starts. There’s no need to be stuck in ridiculous traffic when I could direct the cabby around it.”

Molly stood silent for a moment, but based on the way her lips were pursed, Sherlock had a feeling she hadn’t appreciated the gesture as much as he had hoped.

Before she had a chance to reply the door banged open and Alex came racing in. Molly turned to face him, though she didn’t say a word about the noisy entry.

“Molly,” he cried, grinning on sight of her. “Good, can you help me with my science homework?”

“Of course,” she said. “Go sit at the table and I’ll be along to help you in a moment.”

“Molly, sit down, I’ll go help him,” Sherlock butted in. “Do you need tea by the way? I’m happy to make something. Should I call Mrs. Hudson?”

Her steps faltered though when she suddenly realized the strange problem with his question.

“Alex, why didn’t you ask Sherlock for help?” Molly asked.

“Oh…um…because he always gets annoyed at me when I don’t understand it at first,” Alex explained. “And cause it’s about planets and I know he doesn’t know _anything_ about those.”

Molly laughed at that. “No, I suppose he doesn’t. Good decision then. And no, Sherlock, I don’t want tea or anything else. I’m going to help Alex since he needs it.”

Alex offered a smile and then seemed to notice the map. Before Molly could protest he was over looking at it.

“What’s this? Is there another case?” Alex asked.

Hoping Alex might be more understanding of his decision, Sherlock spoke up.

“It’s a map of the best routes to the hospital for when Molly needs to go there to have the baby.”

Alex’s eyes lit up. “Is that soon? Is the baby coming soon? When’s he going to get here?”

Molly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Soon. Two weeks is our due date, but these things can be unpredictable. Even Sherlock’s not going to be able to guess exactly when it will get here.”

His lower lip drooped into a pout and Molly tensed. Sherlock pondered if he should ask her if she wanted another massage, but before he could Alex broke into a full whine.

“Why can’t he be here now? He’s taking forever!” Alex whined.

“Alex, I can’t speed this process up, I’m sorry,” Molly said, though Sherlock could hear the patience waning in her voice.

“This is so stupid,” Alex muttered. “Babies are stupid.”

This childish side had been a new phenomenon. The counselor had suggested something about Alex trying to get their attention while feeling like they’d refocused on the baby. Sherlock wasn’t quite sure if he believed it, but at the same time he couldn’t come up with another rational explanation. Still, it was hard seeing his normally mature ward acting half his age.

Molly pursed her lips. “Alex, go up to your room and put some shoes on and grab your coat. I need to talk to Sherlock for a moment.”

Alex frowned but thankfully didn’t argue. Sherlock arched an eyebrow as Molly gave him her full attention.

“His homework should be easy enough we can do it tomorrow morning,” Molly said. “For tonight I want you to take him out to dinner and then go do something fun with him…movie…museum…park… whatever he wants.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked.

“Because, he’s panicking about the baby coming, and he needs to know things aren’t going to change and that we’re still going to love him and spend time with him,” Molly said.

“Nothing’s going to change,” Sherlock said. “He’s being idiotic.”

“He’s _ten_ , Sherlock. He doesn’t know that for sure,” Molly said, reaching up to rub her temple. “You need to show him it’s still the good old days, still you and him having adventures and being together. That’s what he needs right now.”

Sherlock sighed, but he knew there was no arguing with her. Mrs. Hudson would probably come upstairs and put a stop to it the moment she heard raised voices.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take him out. Give you a quiet night in too.”

He stalked over to grab his coat, sliding it on and then walking over to the doorway where Alex was just coming down with his coat and shoes, ready to go.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sherlock said to him, “that it might be nice if you and I have a night out…a good run by ourselves before the baby gets here. How does that sound?”

Alex smiled and nodded. “Cool. Where are we going?”

“Er…dinner at Angleo’s all right?”

Alex answered in the affirmative.

“And you can decide from there what you want to do for the rest of it. So long as we’re back by your bedtime I’m sure we can get Molly to approve.”

Molly feigned indecision but eventually nodded. “All right, homework in the morning then.”

Alex grinned and went over to give her a big hug. Sherlock watched as she leaned down and whispered something in his ear. There was a small giggle and then Alex was nodding. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t make out what she’d said.

Sherlock put a hand on his son’s shoulder. He waited until they were downstairs to ask his question.

“What did Molly say?” he asked, glancing back the way they’d came. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to leave her on her own after all.

“Oh,” Alex paused, eyes widening slightly. “Um just something about being willing to help with my homework since you won’t be able to help me at all.”

“Well that’s because Molly absorbs useless information that schools push at children for no other reason than to bolster their weak curriculum.” He paused and looked back. “Just a moment.”

He poked his head into Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.

“Mrs, Hudson, Alex and I are going out for the evening. Would you keep an eye on Molly for me please?”

She looked up from her stove and smiled. “Of course, Sherlock. I’ll make sure she’s just fine. You go have a nice time with that lovely boy. Enjoy having some energy to go do things.”

“Energy?” Sherlock asked. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Mrs. Hudson giggled. “But Sherlock, you’re going to be having a baby soon. And even if you don’t sleep much normally, a baby will wear you out.”

“I’m sure Molly and I can handle him quite adequately. I don’t see how much energy you need to raise a simple baby.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my friend Eleanor thought the _same_ thing. She kept saying it wouldn’t be all that hard and after it was out of her body it would be easy. But then she had it, and she was up several times a night for feedings and it was the most colicky little thing and she was _exhausted_ just a few months in. And considering how fussy you are, I imagine your child might be the exact same way.”

“Fussy?” Sherlock asked, furrowing his brow. “I’m not fussy. Why would you say I’m fussy? I’m not. That’s utterly absurd.”

“Oh you just go have fun with Alex,” Mrs. Hudson said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t have time to explain.”

“I’m not fussy,” Sherlock muttered as he walked to the door.

At Angelo’s Sherlock ordered a plate of fettucine. He didn’t particularly feel like eating, but he was well aware that Alex would complain if he didn’t. He mostly pushed the pasta around his plate while Alex devoured the extra large portion of spaghetti and meatballs that Angelo had brought him.

“Takes me back seeing you two here,” Angelo said as he came by to refill Sherlock’s drink. “He looks just like his dad, he does.”

Alex glanced up and frowned, but after a moment seemed to get the idea and looked down at his spaghetti again.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, shooting a look in Alex’s direction, tracing the small bits and pieces of John that Alex had absorbed.

“They share some similarities,” Sherlock said. “Thank you again, Angelo. I always appreciate your hospitality.”

The man offered a grin before heading off to take care of some other customers. Alex was still pouting.

“What?” Sherlock said with a sigh, setting down his fork and welcoming the excuse to stop eating. “What’s wrong now?”

“I wish I looked like you,” Alex whispered. “He will.”

“I don’t know why anyone in their right mind would want to look like me,” Sherlock muttered. “You look like your father. It’s genetics. It makes sense.”

Intent on avoiding any further pouting or whining, Sherlock quickly changed the subject.

“Now, what is it you want to do tonight?”

Alex twisted his fork through his pasta and frowned. After just a moment he lifted his head and smiled.

“Can we go play laser tag?” he asked.

With a tilt of his head, Sherlock asked, “what’s laser tag?”

A stifled giggle came from behind Alex’s hand that he’d put in front of his mouth.

“You really don’t know anything do you?”

“I know Molly instructed me to take you to do whatever you want, so I suppose we will go do whatever this ridiculous _laser tag_ thing is.”

Thirty minutes later and Sherlock had figured out exactly what the bizarre activity Alex had requested was, and could immediately understand the boy’s interest. As he ducked behind a wall, he tried to imagine John’s reaction to this activity. He had a feeling the man would have loved it just as much as his son who was currently in hiding somewhere.

“Probably waiting to ambush me,” Sherlock muttered to himself. “Little adrenaline junkie.”

He pushed his gun over the ledge and shot a few times, effectively hitting one of the members of the other team. He had to wonder how many more times Alex was going to want to play. Possibly until his imposed bedtime. With a groan, Sherlock ducked a little further into his hiding place, beginning to form some quick strategies on his plan of attack. Well, if he was stuck here for a few more hours, best to make the most of it.

And of course, he was more than right. Hours of laser tag until he was looking at his phone and the few texts from Molly asking when he’d be home. Thankfully Alex was fairly worn out. He leaned against Sherlock on the cab ride home, eyes fluttering closed even as he continued to talk about how amazing the night was.

“It was really fun,” he yawned. “Sherlock, you need to find another case though. Or you’re gonna get rusty. Considering how bad I beat you and all.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Saw Lestrade a few days ago actually. He mentioned having something for you.”

“Where did you run across Lestrade?” Sherlock asked.

“Hmm…he was doing something at my school. Said there’s been some weird things going on at schools and that he needed to check mine. Said to tell you to start taking his calls or at least text him. He wants your help.”

He did have some memories of several calls from Lestrade, but none of it had seemed altogether urgent. Still, a new case might be nice. It had been quite some time since he’d had a serious one. Maybe the distraction would do him some good.

The soft purr of the cab’s engine and the lulling movement of driving on the more quiet London streets soon had Alex’s eyes closing and his body drooping in the seat. Sherlock scooped him up the moment they arrived at 221 B, handing a note to the cabby before going towards the door with Alex remaining asleep.

He opened the door and went past Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen that was quiet due to the late hour. He proceeded up the stairs, passing their flat and peeking in to see Molly also dozing on the sofa with the telly running. Without pausing again he went up the last flight of stairs to Alex’s bedroom.

With careful precision, Sherlock managed to balance Alex while pulling back the covers, before depositing him onto the bed. He pulled the covers up over him, deciding not to bother trying to change him into pyjamas. Alex made a soft groaning noise and blinked a few times, looking up at Sherlock.

“Go to sleep,” the detective ordered.

There was a soft yawn before Alex snuggled a little deeper under the covers.

“Thanks Sherlock,” he whispered. “oh…mmm…and Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Please try and find a case. For me.”

After a moment of silence Sherlock nodded.

“I’ll try, Alex. I promise I’ll try.”

There was a bright smile Sherlock could just barely make out in the dim room. And then Alex was yawning again and pulling the covers up a little further.

“Okay, thanks…tonight was wonderful, dad. I really liked it.”

For just a second Sherlock thought he’d heard wrong. But there was no clarifying from Alex who had fallen asleep again. He was uncertain if his ears were to be trusted, but it seemed like there was a good chance he’d been correct in what he thought Alex had said.

“Goodnight,” he said, unable to come up with anything more creative in a response, and not caring since Alex was already asleep.

As he walked down the stairs, he let that word carry him. He held onto it for a moment, related it back to Alex in Angelo’s upset that he’d been told he looked like his father. Out of all the people Sherlock had met, he’d never admired anyone more than John, so it puzzled him to try to determine why someone would want to be or look like him instead. But somehow Alex was finding something worthy in him.

Of course, if Alex was going to appreciate him that way. He’d have to keep his promise. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Sherlock punched in Lestrade’s number. Never too late to try to pick up a case.

* * *

 

 

Lestrade phoned him back a few days later saying he was swamped and they could set up a meeting at some point later in the week. Though Sherlock was impatient to get to the case Alex had sounded so intrigued with, he reluctantly held back in commenting on the issue.

Of course, by the time he made his way to the detective inspector’s office the case had truly piqued his interest. Something with schools could be interesting. And besides, it had been a while since he’d heard from his old friend Moriarty.

Lestrade’s office was cluttered with various files. By one look at him, Sherlock could already tell he hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours.

“So, what has you so swamped and why haven’t you bothered me about it before?” Sherlock asked, not bothering to sit down since the one other chair had a stack of files on it.

“For the love of—Sherlock I called you at least eight bloody times,” Lestrade said. “Talked to Molly about it. Mentioned it to Alex in passing. Seriously, what more do you want me to do? Flash a giant lit up sign that says ‘Help me Sherlock’ into the sky?”

“How on earth would you put a giant sign in the sky, and I was busy, so that was why I didn’t respond. I apologize.”

“Like you think I’m not busy?” Lestrade growled. “And forget the reference. One of the many times I miss John. Now, let’s get down to business shall we. Crime has been at an all time high as of late. Not sure what’s going on, but whatever it is, I’d guess Moriarty is behind at least half of it. People are running rampant, I swear. But the case we thought you might want to look into was the school ones.”

He passed over a file and Sherlock opened it, taking in pictures of several different primary schools, a number of copies of letters that appeared to have various kinds of threats and several pictures of vandalism.

“Bomb threats? But no one has made good on these yet,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Still, we can’t take any chances,” Lestrade muttered. “Can’t have kids getting blown up.”

“Why on earth does it matter if they’re children? Would adults be better?” Sherlock remarked snidely. “Some of these are ciphers.”

“Yeah,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “I noticed. Got a clue as to what they’re about?”

“You need the key to break them. It could be anything,” Sherlock said, he peered at one of them closer before noting the attached copy of a lab report. “Human blood? This was written in human blood?”

“Not just any blood, but…Ben’s…thought that might interest you,” Lestrade said. “Oh go on, talk about how it’s Christmas with how clever and exciting this is.”

Sherlock stared down at the picture of cipher numbers drawn in human blood, and for once could not muster the energy to show any form of excitement. It was one thing when there was no personal connection. It was quite another when he knew that blood was directly related to why Alex had to still see a counselor once a week.

“I cannot solve these without a key. If I spend some time thinking, perhaps I could come up with some possibilities Moriarty might have expected me to go to, but otherwise, they will take time,” Sherlock said. “In the meantime, I’d rather look at these bomb threats, which in fact to me don’t actually look that way at all.”

“Then what the hell are they?” Lestrade demanded, gawking at him.

“Messages. Certain words are written in a minutely different text.”

“No they’re not! I would have noticed that!”

Sherlock passed the letters back over and pointed to one of the words.

“Trained killer. The word train is written in a different font. You can tell because the word to uses a different looking t. Not vastly different, but still enough to be able to see that.”

“And so? What’s your conclusion?”

“train under bomb the London?” Sherlock said , looking at each letter in turn. “Quite simple, the train bomb under London. It likely references the bomb we stopped from blowing under Parliament.”

“So?” Lestrade asked.

“So, we should go check that area to make sure Moriarty hasn’t left any nasty surprises or clues there,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade reached a hand up to rub his temple. “Fine, fine. I’ll go get the car.”

There was a certain amount of déjà vu in going through those tunnels a second time, walking along the tracks with a flashlight. Lestrade had pointed out that there had been fences and locks added to the area since the incident, but Sherlock still need confirmation that nothing was being planted there.

They reached the gate and Sherlock put a finger to his lips as he pointed to the lock. Though it was still hanging in place, it was easy to see where someone had clipped off part of it, making it easy to remove.

“Shite,” Lestrade growled as Sherlock opened up the gate and led him into the dead end area of track.

As they went further, Sherlock of course, was not surprised when he made out a tube car resting on the tracks ahead of them. He led the way, going up and opening the door, looking inside before allowing Lestrade to get in with him. But it was different than last time.

The seats were filled with people.

Any place that one could sit was filled. And when Sherlock swung his flashlight around, he found closed eyes and still features. His quick deduction skills made easy work of the ragged clothing and dirty skin. Homeless people. The car was packed with dead homeless people.

“That’s disgusting,” Lestrade whispered. “And I’ve seen some right messed up things in my time.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement, still shining his flashlight over various parts of the car, looking for any signs of any more clues.

“These aren’t your network, are they?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. But perhaps a threat towards them, like his doppelgangers of me and Alex and Molly.” He paused and cocked his head. “Do you hear something?”

Lestrade paused and then nodded. “Clicking?”

Sherlock swung his flashlight in the direction of the noise and found that in one of the women’s hands rested a small clock. Numbers were going down, counting from a minute.

“He’s going to blow this whole thing isn’t he?” Lestrade cried. “Bloody hell, that maniac. Sherlock, we have to run.”

Sherlock looked at the clock and then around the small compartment. He walked to the other end and glanced out the window.

“There’s another car. And if my eyesight isn’t deceiving me another behind that. If they’re all full of explosives, we’re already dead.”  


“Well, is there a bloody off switch!?! There was in the case with John!”

Sherlock walked over to the clock and examined it carefully. For all intents and purposes it appeared to be a normal digital alarm clock. Nothing out of the ordinary. In fact there didn’t appear to be any wires or anything coming out of it.

“This isn’t my demise, Lestrade. He isn’t going to blow me to smithereens in a tube car full of dead homeless people.”

“Sherlock, first off, you can’t bloody well know what this man is planning because if you could we would have caught him ten years ago. Secondly, what the hell makes you think he wants something more _glamorous_ for you? Seriously, this seems pretty damn villainlike to me, killing you the same way you almost died years ago.”

“It’s not a bomb,” Sherlock said. “I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t a bomb.”

He watched as the numbers rapidly descended, dropping towards zero at an alarming rate. Lestrade was bracing himself against one of the poles and closing his eyes. Sherlock just watched on, waiting until the number hit the expected bright red O.

He waited a moment. Nothing.

“It’s not a bomb. I told you. I don’t know what he was counting down towards, but it wasn’t a bomb.”

“If you don’t know what it was for, then we’d best get out of here and find out,” Lestrade muttered. “He could have wreaked all kinds of havoc by now.”

Sherlock nodded his agreement and followed Lestrade to the door. His mind was racing with possibilities, but none of them really made any sense. This whole game for Moriarty was becoming more and more illogical. Perhaps that was the point. The further they went along, the less Moriarty tried to make it make sense.

They reemerged into the light of day. No one around them appeared to be in any kind of panic, so Lestrade was put at ease some with that. But he was picking up his phone and calling Donovan anyways. Sherlock followed suit in picking up his phone and looking at what he’d missed without service. To his surprise there were multiple texts and messages from Molly, several from Alex, and even one from Mrs. Hudson’s old landline.

He picked one of the first messages from Molly and played it.

“Sherlock, I don’t want to alarm you,” she began, immediately causing him some level of alarm, “but I’ve been feeling a bit off all day…I know you were off to go do your case so I didn’t really say much this morning. Thought it was just some random back pains and maybe indigestion or something, but Mrs. Hudson is taking me to the hospital. As soon as you get this please come straight there. I don’t know why your phone is going to voicemail. But Sherlock it’s happening now…he’s early but he’s coming now. Sherlock, I’m having the baby.”

Sherlock stiffened, hand tightening around the phone, breath catching as he realized. Moriarty causing problems for London or not, he had a more important dilemma at the moment.

“Lestrade, I need you to drive me to St. Bart’s,” Sherlock ordered,

“What’s wrong?” he said, pulling the phone from his mouth. “And Sally’s not answering her phone, by the way. It’s got me worried.”

Sherlock slid his phone into his pocket. He couldn’t bear to listen to the other messages. He knew what they were. “Where are you’s?” from Alex. Mrs. Hudson probably fretting.

“Well, can we go by Bart’s on the way?”

“Sherlock, what is it? Is it Alex? Molly? Is something wrong?” Lestrade asked.

“If you would simply drive this wouldn’t be such an issue,” Sherlock snapped. His voice softened slightly, though it was hard for him to state calmly what had him in such a panic. “I don’t know how long I have, but I need to get to St. Bart’s. Molly’s in labor…”

Lestrade’s eyes widened. “Good god.”

“Exactly. I’m about to be a father,” Sherlock said, reaching up a hand to run through his hair.

Lestrade had something of a mix between a grin and grimace. “Cor, let’s get you to the hospital. Call Sally for me on the way will you? Perfect timing Moriarty has. That bastard.”

Sherlock nodded. But even with the possibility of further action from the consulting criminal, Sherlock was only focused on one thing. The thought that in less than twenty-four hours, his whole life was about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so even I’m getting a bit confused by some of the jumps in story so I put a poll up on my fanfiction profile to help me decide the best way to help you keep track of the time frame of each chapter. Or you can just comment here with suggestions on that. I feel like a few of you probably went “ALEX IS 10?!?! In this chapter because I didn’t mark some of those gaps very clearly. But yes, quite a bit of time has passed and he’s ten now believe it or not.
> 
> Thanks to reesiesteve, deby, and Icecat62 for commenting!


	23. Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock finds out what happened from Donovan, he makes a mad dash to the hospital, the name game ends, and something unexpected happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: some description of labor and delivery (yes spoilers I’m sorry). If those squick you please skip once you see Sherlock enter the hospital to the part where Molly says "oh he's" (you can search that and you should be able to find it easily to skip over).  
> Also, Moriarty is creepy as always and harm does come to an individual in this chapter. So sorry. :(

Sherlock took Lestrade’s phone as they entered the car. He pushed Donovan’s contact information as the car came to a start, Lestrade hitting the gas and pushing them out into traffic with hardly a second’s pause.

After a long wait Donovan finally answered.

“Boss, you need to get down here quick!” she yelled into the phone.

Sherlock pulled it back a few centimeters. “Donovan, this is Sherlock. Lestrade’s driving right now. What’s happened? What’s the matter?”

“Bombing. A bombing. Tell Lestrade he needs to get over here now,” Donovan said. She cursed in the background and Sherlock could hear the sound of sirens and people yelling.

“What’s happened? Get where?” Sherlock demanded.

“Buckingham Palace,” Donovan said. “Bomb squad is handling everything inside, but we need to clear the general area. I need his help. I’m calling everyone we have on hand. Hell even you can come help. God knows we need all we can get right now.”

“Did the Queen die?” Sherlock asked.

“Dear God, we have a King now you idiot,” Donovan growled. “And from the sound of it, no. But I know there was one death and several people injured. Get Lestrade over here as fast as possible.”

“We need to swing by the hospital first.”

She started yelling at someone in the background, something about moving the crowd out of the way and telling people to put their cameras away.

“The hospital? Sherlock, this is an emergency.”

“Molly is giving birth as we speak,” Sherlock snapped. “I’m going to be with her.”

“Fuck,” Donovan muttered. “She has a great sense of timing. Can Lestrade drop you off somewhere and you take a cab or something? Seriously, we need him ASAP.”

Sherlock thought for a moment but then responded in the affirmative. He hung up the phone and turned to Lestrade.

“Pull over the next place you can. I’ll catch a cab. You need to head to Buckingham palace.”

Lestrade’s jaw clenched and Sherlock watched his knuckles go white on the steering wheel.

“What a day. What a day,” he muttered. “Why today do you think? Because of your kid?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Coincidence,” he said, even as he thought _the universe is rarely so lazy_. Still, even in his panic to see Molly, he did need to take some time to analyze Moriarty’s behavior. It was different from some of his past activities.

Lestrade cursed again as he pulled over to the nearest curb. Sherlock hopped out, slamming the door behind him. There was a second pause before Lestrade switched on his sirens and lights and then he was off, tires screeching as he gunned it. Sherlock waited a moment before putting his arm out to hail a cab.

Thankfully, the map he’d made for himself had proved useful, and even from a very different part of London than he normally frequented, he knew the fastest routes even with the traffic. And though the cabby was very annoyed at him by the end of the trip, he was just relieved to have made it to Bart’s in under twenty minutes.

He flew up to the labor and delivery ward, heart racing. What if he’d missed it? Would Molly be angry if he’d missed the birth of their son?

Nurses were scolding him as he ignored their instructions that he needed to check in first and tell them who he wanted to see. He ran down the hall, peeking into every door that was open, pausing when he heard a voice that he recognized. He turned a corner to see another door, opened it and came face to face with Molly on a hospital bed, gown on, legs spread, already red and sweaty with her expression one of exertion and pain.

“Oh thank heavens, Sherlock!” she gasped, reaching a hand for him.

Sherlock flew at her without paying the doctor or the gaggle of nurses behind him any mind. He almost fell on her in his haste, ending up half in the bed with her, arms wrapping around her as best they could, his lips coming to brush her temple and then her cheeks and then her lips.

“Sir, you can’t be in here! Sir!” the nurse screamed.

“No, no, this is my partner,” Molly clarified.

“Partner?” Sherlock said with a frown.

“What would you prefer, Sherlock?” she said with a sigh. “We’re not married. Boyfriend? Lover?”

“Fine, partner,” Sherlock muttered.

“Please, I want him with me,” Molly said.

The nurses didn’t look pleased but finally dispersed. Sherlock managed to move off of Molly, carefully going around the doctor to take the chair on the other side.

“How far along is she?” he asked.

The doctor moved down to lift the hospital gown. She squinted for a moment before pulling away with a nod.

“About eight centimeters. She’s almost there. Came in at about five.”

Sherlock frowned. “You must have started this morning then. Why didn’t you mention feeling poorly?”

“I passed it off as other things last night,” Molly admitted. “When I woke up in the middle of the night. This morning I knew better, but I wasn’t very far along…I’d hoped you would be back in time to take me to the hospital. I left when I reached about four, asked Mrs. Hudson to take me. But I wanted you to go solve your case. I thought it would be good for you. Give you less time to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” Sherlock muttered. He was about to argue more when Molly winced and let out a soft moan. He reached out a hand and she took it, squeezing down hard.

“It’s all right, just breathe,” he said after a moment, rapidly searching for his dresser on labor. He knew this information. He could coach her through this. To be honest, he probably didn’t even need a doctor in the room. As though to echo this thought, the woman in scrubs went over to grab a clipboard and headed to the door.

“Call me when contractions are about a minute apart. Until then she should be fine on her own. Just keep breathing,” she instructed.

Molly’s hand squeezed his again and Sherlock applied even more pressure back, mostly to calm himself down. The door closed and they were left alone.

Time does funny things when stress levels are high. In some places, minutes of contractions seemed to last for hours. Watching Molly’s face, the obvious pain, and physical taxation in her every expression. And then there were bits and pieces that went fast. Moments where Sherlock wasn’t sure he was going to be able to catch up with reality. Moments where he really didn’t think he was ready. But of course, after an hour or so, it became obvious Molly’s time was coming. Sherlock called for the doctor before coming back over to sit with her again. He knew she needed him more than ever.

The doctor came back in and peered between her legs.

“Ten centimeters, she’s ready to push,” the doctor told him.

Sherlock opened the next drawer down in his mind palace, quickly gathering up all the information he could about the final process about labor. He immediately began advising Molly as best he could. Breathing. Pushing. Everything he could think of. The doctor actually looked quite impressed.

“Wow, looks like he could deliver you all on his own,” she said with a chuckle.

Molly gave a half-smile before letting out another moan as another contraction hit. Sherlock squeezed her hand.

“Breathe, Molly,” he said again, more for his own benefit than for hers.

“I’m trying,” she hissed out.

“You’re doing very well,” the doctor said again. “The baby is just beginning to crown. You’re almost there.”

Molly’s eyes squeezed shut as she huffed loudly. Almost there, he thought. Just a bit more.

There was more breathing, more pushing, more pain for Molly. A few cries and pants and groans. Sherlock just held tight and did his best to stay encouraging, even as he found himself wanting to add more and more advice. Books made this sound like a simple process, or at least simple in theory. The body was built for the delivery, it knew the basic concepts of what was about to unfold. But there was nothing simple about even _watching_ Molly endure something like this.

“Almost there,” the doctor encouraged again.

“You’re there, Molly. Just give him one last push,” Sherlock said. “We almost have our son in our arms. We almost have him here.”

Molly’s eyes flicked open to look up at Sherlock. There was a brief instant of concentration on his words, and then she was screwing up her face, letting out the most fierce cry he’d ever heard come from her mouth.

And suddenly there was crying.

The doctor pulled away from her place between Molly’s legs, holding a small messy lump of writhing flesh. Sherlock glanced at the blood and other fluids with a sense of awe. He’d surrounded himself with death for several decades. But he had never really experienced the beauty of new life before. The start of the cycle he so often enjoyed the end of in his career. But somehow it seemed complete to him, the blood and tears creating life for once instead of death.

“Oh my god,” Molly whispered. She was still working through the afterbirth, but her eyes were fixed on the squalling baby the doctor was now cleaning up.

“You did so well,” Sherlock murmured. “He’s here, Molly. He’s here. No more waiting.”

“No,” Molly agreed. “No more waiting.”

“Would you like to hold him for a minute before we run some tests? It can be helpful to try breastfeeding right away,” the doctor said.

Molly nodded and stretched out her arms. Sherlock watched at the tiniest human he’d ever seen was gently set into Molly’s waiting hands. She pulled him back to cuddle up against her, cooing in awe at the beautiful sight.

Sherlock reached out a tentative hand to brush a finger over one incredibly soft cheek. The baby continued to cry, but the detective could care less. Healthy lungs were a good sign.

“Oh he’s just gorgeous,” Molly whispered. “Look at him, Sherlock.”

“I’m looking,” he said, staring down at his son.

“He has your eyes,” Molly whispered when they opened to look at her.

“Common misconception,” Sherlock said. “Babies eyes usually don’t develop pigment until much later. It is still possible that he will have yours in the end, even if they are more blue or gray now.”

Molly rolled her eyes and moved their baby up to offer a soft kiss.

A nurse had appeared and was helping Molly find the best position for nursing. Like any new mother, it took her a few tries, but she soon was getting the hang of it. But after she finished, the doctor asked if it was all right to take the baby for tests. One of Molly’s hands curled a little more firmly around her child, but after a moment she relented and handed him over. The doctor passed him off to a nurse and promised he’d have the baby back as soon as they had all the information.

Sherlock offered a smile and looked towards the door again. He knew they needed to run tests and everything to make sure the baby was healthy, but that didn’t make it any easier. Before he could say something, however, the door opened again and another nurse came in.

“Can I let your mother in?” a nurse suddenly asked Molly.

Sherlock turned a stare at her, eyebrows furrowing. “What? Your mother isn’t—”

She put a finger to his lips before he could speak.

“Yes, please let her in,” Molly answered.

Once the nurse had disappeared she leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

“Mrs. Hudson just pretended to be my mother. Thought it might make it easier with her not being family and all,” Molly pointed out.

Sherlock nodded. It was a clever decision, he supposed. And of course, the moment Mrs. Hudson appeared in the door, he was somehow glad to have her there.

“Oh look at you darling, still looking pretty as ever even after having a baby!” Mrs. Hudson said, rushing forward even with her arms loaded with several different items. Sherlock shook his head as she set them down and began showing Molly.

“Fresh clothes for you dear and your brush and a few other items to freshen yourself up. And I got the baby carrier so you can take him home more easily.” She leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “oh and I snuck in some of those chocolate biscuits, in case the food is terrible.”

“You’re an angel,” Molly said with a bright smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. And Harry was fine with taking Alex for tonight?”

“Of course, said she’d pick him up after school so you two wouldn’t have to worry. Give you a night to adjust to the baby. But Harry did mention something about Alex wanting you to call him. I guess when she called to tell him the news he was very worried about you two.”

“I’ll call him,” Sherlock volunteered.

“And Sherlock, are you helping with the case? Oh watching the telly I just couldn’t believe it!” Mrs. Hudson said, she crossed her arms and rocked onto her heels, looking quite fretful.

“What happened?” Molly asked, shooting a look at Sherlock.

“Bomb in Buckingham Palace,” Sherlock said.

“What?” Molly gasped.

“I don’t know. Moriarty’s up to something,” Sherlock muttered.

Molly laid her head back and sighed. “I just wanted today to go right. Any other day could be chaos, but I wanted to just have my son in some _peace_. How silly of me to think that was possible.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, only to receive a glare from her and a slap on the shoulder from Mrs. Hudson.

“Never you worry, dear, everything’s going to be all right,” Mrs. Hudson said, reaching out to smooth Molly’s hair. “Sherlock will fix it. I know he will.”

Sherlock didn’t argue with her, even as he thought about the fact that Moriarty had still been at large all these years and he’d made so little progress in solving anything. However, he took the praise in spite of the massive amounts of evidence pointing to the contrary. The last thing he wanted was to upset Molly.

He grabbed his phone and went into the hallway to call Alex.

After a few rings Alex picked up.

“Sherlock! Is everything ok? How’s Molly?” he asked.

“Fine,” Sherlock said. “And the baby is being looked over by the doctors, but he looks healthy. I imagine they’ll want Molly to stay for a while, but I’m sure she’d be fine with me coming to pick you up and taking you home. Would you prefer I come get you from your aunt’s or are you content to stay there?”

There was a pause. “Er…well I want to see the baby.”

“You’ll see him soon,” Sherlock promised. “I’m not sure how long they’ll require us to be here, so he might not be home tonight anyways. Either way you’ll see him. You’ll see him so much you’ll probably get sick of him. So, do you want to come home or not?”

“No, I’ll be fine here tonight I guess. Come pick me up first thing in the morning?”

“Of course,” Sherlock said. “Everything else all right?”

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure Molly was okay,” Alex said. “Glad she is.”

“Yes,” Sherlock glanced back towards the room. “Me too.”

“Aunt Harry’s asking me to come help her with dinner. I’ll talk to you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “Bye for now.”

He hung up and went back into the room to be with Molly who was still being fussed over by Mrs. Hudson. He went back to his chair and took a seat, deciding standing did no good when he had no idea how long the wait might be.

The door opened and the nurse returned.

“Healthy baby boy, no problems at all. Of course, we ask that you stay a few more hours just to be sure and so that we can check up on you, make sure you’re recovering right too. But I think by the looks of how smoothly that went for both you and the baby, we should be able to get you out tonight.”

Molly held out her arms again and was soon cuddling their son again. The nurse left to afford them some privacy, something Sherlock was grateful for. He settled back in his chair and watched Molly interact with their child. Sherlock was somehow not surprised when Mrs. Hudson pulled a camera out of her purse and started snapping pictures.

“Move in closer, Sherlock,” she said. “I want both of you.”

He rolled his eyes but did as he was told, moving closer to Molly so that he could be in the picture with her and their son.

“So, what’s his name?” Mrs. Hudson demanded. “You two have still been arguing about it. You settled on something yet? Can’t go around calling him ‘baby’ or something like that.”

Molly smiled and glanced up at Sherlock. “I think he should have your top name as his first name. I know how much it would mean to you.”

“Molly, I really—I know this is probably more important to you than to me,” he said.

“No, I think his name should be Johann like you wanted.” Molly looked down at the boy in her arms and smiled. “It suits him.”

“Then you should pick the middle name,” Sherlock persisted.

“Well, I know you hated Richard,” Molly said. “So we could use my father’s middle name instead. Johann Charles Holmes. It has a nice ring to it don’t you think?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Alex is going to have a fit that you didn’t use any of his suggestions. But it is a lovely name for him.”

Sherlock frowned and tried to think about how they could possibly settle that issue. But he did want Molly to have her name. And while he had been reluctant, he couldn’t deny he loved the thought of having his son named after several great namesakes, his best friend included.

“Oh, we could do two middle names!” Molly said. “Like you, Sherlock. We could have him be Johann Charles—what was Alex’s top pick?”

“Arthur,” Sherlock muttered, failing to keep the scorn from his voice.

“Johann Charles Arthur Holmes. It sounds quite nice, don’t you think?”

Sherlock thought it sounded slightly ridiculous for an infant, but he shrugged. “If it makes you happy.”

“It does,” Molly said. “It really does.”

She moved and carefully handed the baby over to him. Sherlock stiffened but didn’t dare pull away. He allowed her to set the small human life into his arms and stared down at bright eyes that were peering up at him curiously.

“Hello, Johann,” he whispered, feeling a small smile starting to spread. He couldn’t contain it. He felt his voice joke up as he spoke again. “Welcome to our small and messy little family. We’re a bit strange, but I think you’ll fit right in. And even if you don’t, your mother and I will love you anyways.”

Molly beamed at him and Mrs. Hudson wiped her eyes before snapping a few more pictures. He ignored both of them though, in favor of simply losing himself in the minute details of his new child. He could spend hours just staring at that little face. After all, there was never a more important thing for him to observe than the person who was going to change his life.

* * *

 

 

The hospital walked Molly through the basic after care procedures. Both of them had information thrust at them left and right, but from everything they were told, there were no red flags with the birth or their son. Sherlock did his best to store information away, though he knew much of the advice already. And so, after a few more hours of care and instructions, and Molly finally cleaning herself up and changing into her normal clothes, the two of them headed home, Mrs. Hudson having left a few hours before.

It was late by the time their cab arrived at 221 B. Sherlock carried Johann out of the cab, keeping one hand on Molly’s arm. She looked absolutely exhausted, and the last the he wanted was to have to try to catch her with Johann’s baby carrier in the other hand.

Once upstairs, Sherlock helped Molly by trying to put Johann down. He settled the already sleeping baby into his crib, absolutely relieved when he didn’t wake. He looked up to see Molly coming back from the bathroom in her nightgown. She sighed and laid down on the bed.

“I’m so exhausted,” she whispered. “I feel like I could sleep for three years.”

“I believe that’s physically impossible,” Sherlock said. “And I have a suspicion Johann will want feeding more than once, so likely not going to happen either.”

Molly offered a half smile, even as she began to drift off. Sherlock pulled off his shirt and trousers, throwing them into a heap on the floor. He crawled in beside her. There was a moment’s hesitation before he leaned in and kissed Molly softly on the lips.

“What was that for?” she asked.

“For being so brave,” Sherlock said. “And strong. And for being an amazing partner.”

She snorted. “I think that word really does fit us best. Since you despise marriage…and to be honest I can’t see husband suiting you much anyways. Boyfriend seems silly since we’re so old. Lover seems too informal. And besides, we have more of an…arrangement than love you know?”

“I care for you, Molly Hooper,” Sherlock said.

“And I for you. And it works that way. I think sometimes people get all caught up in the romancey lovey dovey feelings of being with someone. It’s nice what we have. Understanding. Communication. Respect. Compromise. Passion dies eventually. In some ways I think this is a truer form of love than all that mushy Valentine’s romcom crap.”

Sherlock smiled and pecked her lips a second time. “Get some sleep. You must be exhausted. I’ll wake you if Johann needs something I can’t provide.”

Molly smiled and her eyes closed. Sherlock pulled a blanket up over her. Part of him was tempted to go work on the Moriarty case. But at the same time he sensed Molly needed him. So he switched off the light and he laid down beside her. After a moment he decided he had a better idea and he maneuvered his arms around her as best he could so that she was cuddled against his chest.

Sherlock’s eyes closed. And though he hadn’t believed he was tired, somehow he managed to drift into a light sleep.

* * *

 

 

He woke to find the room still dark. He probably had only slept a few hours. And already there was the sound of crying.

It was higher pitched than he somehow remembered. But he rubbed his eyes and sat up, figuring it was probably his sleepiness that was making the sound different.

He looked towards the crib and could make out a figure already at the crib with the baby. Good, Molly was already handling it. He groaned and laid back down, and as he did felt the bed shift beside him, and heard a sleepy mumble. Sherlock froze, reaching out a hand, and sure enough finding Molly still beside him.

His hand scrabbled for the bedside table, opening it up and pulling out the handgun without another moment’s hesitation. He sat up and pointed it at the figure, reaching over with his other hand to turn on the bedside lamp.

Moriarty stood grinning with a screaming Johann in his arms.

“Hello, Sherlock,” he purred.

“Put him down,” Sherlock hissed.

“Oh, and why would I do that? Just seeing what yours and Molly’s lovely genes have created. God I love seeing you as daddy, Sherlock. You play the role of desperate father too well…a little too well actually.”

Sherlock cocked the gun and Moriarty tisked.

“Now now, don’t want me to accidentally slip with this do we?”

A knife glinted to the side, and Sherlock froze.

“What do you want? Haven’t you had enough fun today, killing homeless people, planting bombs?” Sherlock muttered.

“Just proving a point,” Moriarty said with a smirk. “Making it extra clear for you since you’ve been so slow lately, Sherlock. Teacher’s just trying to make sure you get the little example. Don’t want you to feel disappointed later if it doesn’t stick in your mind.”

“The point that you’re a sick psychopath who’s gone off the deep end?” Sherlock asked.

Molly stirred and blinked a few times. “Sherlock, does Johann need feeding? Because if not turn off the light.”

“Hello Molly dear,” Moriarty said.

She shot up and spun to see him still holding her son, knife in hand. Sherlock kept the gun steady, but he was already well aware that the risks probably outweighed it. Besides, he knew he couldn’t shoot Moriarty. No.

“And motherhood is suiting you too, honey,” Moriarty said, dark eyes scanning over her figure in the nightgown, paying special attention to her breasts. “Mmhmm, keep her having babies Sherlock. Enjoy that all your want. She’s good isn’t she? Simply a lovely scrumptious little thing. But they always are when they’re so desperate. Practically gagging for it.”

Molly crossed her arms. “We never had sex, you disgusting blathering arse-hole and I never wanted to anyways.”

Sherlock shook his head, trying to signal her to stop. The last thing he wanted was Moriarty becoming angry.

“So, your point, Moriarty, if you don’t mind?”

He chuckled and raised the knifed hand up to motion around. “Why that I can kill whomever I want. The lowest of the low to the highest members of British government. I can send a plague sweeping over London and kill every man woman and child if I like. Or better yet, kill your lovely little wifey, that darling little puppy of yours, your new little clone, your oh so clever inspector, that obnoxious hag of a landlady. Anyone and everyone. If I want them dead. I can do it. And I’ll kill all of them eventually, Sherlock. You just wait and see.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched, but he had no words to respond with, nothing that would help anyways. All he wanted was for Moriarty to put Johann down. All he needed was his son safe.

Moriarty sighed and his posture relaxed some. He smiled.

“See, it’s cute, really, Sherlock. The daddy act. I liked it for a while.” He sighed and his smiled disappeared again. His eyes turned down to look at Johann who was still screaming in his arms. “But it’s gotten so boring. So tiring. I’m rather…disappointed actually. Thought it might make you better. Make you more motivated to end this. But instead…you hardly notice me anymore. I leave you pretty presents and clues and you don’t do a thing. You’d think I didn’t exist anymore by the way you treat those. No care for them at all. Or rather…I think you just can’t solve them anymore. You’re losing your touch.”

“I don’t have time for pointlessness,” Sherlock said. “Your puzzles have become trivial.”

Moriarty smirked. “True. Too true. And I’m tired. And I’m bored. So let’s call a truce. What do you say? I’m a decent chap. I can bargain. And I will. You want me out of your hair so you can be daddy. Fine. I’ll let you be daddy. To be honest, I was getting ready to leave for a bit anyways. Get out of the London air so to speak.”

“You’re leaving,” Sherlock whispered, eyes widening as he put two and two together. “Oh that’s good. Rats abandoning a sinking ship. Your web has been more active lately. They’re finishing what work they can before your protection leaves.”

“Precisely,” Moriarty smirked. “Thought you’d at least figure that one out. But really you’ve grown pathetic. It’s just no fun anymore. No fun at all. So I’ll go lend my expertise elsewhere. Maybe other countries have rising Sherlocks of their own.”

“Fleeing the country, have I really intimidated you so much?” Sherlock said.

Moriarty chuckled. “Oh you’re very much mistaken if you think I’m the slightest bit intimidated by you, Sherlock. Who can be scared of a teddy bear? You’ve grown soft. Pathetic. Weak. It’s almost everything I wanted. Except not quite.”

He rocked Johann slightly, peering down at his face and smirking.

“You see, Sherlock,” he began, “I think a little break will do you some good. Give you a chance to sharpen your skills again. And it will make our games feel less…trivial I think. Oh don’t worry, you’ll be seeing me again soon. But my vacation can correspond with yours. We can take a break.”

Sherlock frowned. He knew there had to be a catch. It was only a matter of determining what it was. But he was distracted momentarily by Moriarty moving towards the crib, reaching to set Johann down. Sherlock thought his heart might explode with how fast it was beating, trying desperately to pump adrenaline through his system. His son was being put out of danger. His relief was almost palpable.

And that was when Moriarty paused, lifting up the baby once again, grin growing by the second.

“Oh, but you know, I think if I just leave you like this you might just grow too comfortable with the quiet, Sherlock. Might even forget me. Stop thinking I exist. Feel…safe. And you know, I just don’t want that. No. I want to give you a little present to remember me by. Something for you to never _ever_ forget that daddy’s just taking a break, but he’s coming back to play with his favorite detective soon.”

He could feel Molly stiffening beside him. She breathed out what sounded almost like a prayer.

“But it needs to be something good. Something _really_ memorable. Let’s say—every time you go about your day you’ll remember ‘oh Moriarty’s coming home some day to school me. Moriarty’s going to come kill me and my whole family and ruin my life some day.’ Wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable after all. Wouldn’t want you thinking you were safe. So the reminder…let’s just give it to you…anytime you look at your darling son.”

The knife flashed and Johann let out a screeching scream. Molly echoed it with one of her own and Sherlock nearly reacted by firing the gun, stopping himself just in time to avoid pulling the trigger, doing his best to keep his head clear as he stared at the knife pulling away from Johann’s face, even as crimson began to drip down one chubby cheek.

“There now,” Moriarty purred. “That should do it.”

He set Johann back into his crib even as the wailing continued. Before Sherlock could even react, Molly was on Moriarty, fists flying, kicking and shrieking and acting in a manner he’d never seen before.

“How dare you hurt my son! How dare you hurt him!” Molly shouted. “You bastard, you awful—“

Sherlock hopped off the bed and grabbed her wrist, pulling her away, and sighing in relief when he noticed that in the shock of Molly’s movements, Moriarty had dropped the knife. Sherlock moved himself between all of them, stepping in front of the crib and Molly, gun still raised and pointed at Moriarty.

“Very good,” the criminal muttered with a smile, as blood dripped from a likely broken nose. His eyes glinted and Sherlock again thought he saw more than a touch of insanity lingering in their depths. “Guess the bitch still has a little fight left in her. Enjoy it while it lasts, Sherlock.”

The criminal walked towards the door. Sherlock stood stalk still, gun still pointed in imitation of a threat. If Moriarty had any last farewells, he didn’t speak them. Sherlock waited until he heard footsteps on the stairs. And then there was the front door opening and closing. A car door opened and shut and then an engine started before a car pulled away from Baker street. Only then did Sherlock lower his gun. Molly was sobbing behind him, though she had moved to pick Johann out of his crib, applying pressure to the wound, watching as the blanket she was using turned red beneath her fingers. Sherlock looked at his son’s cheek, swallowing as he thought about the scar that he knew was going to form. .

As he helped Molly get ready to make their way to the hospital for a second time that day, Sherlock reflected on Moriarty’s words. And he knew that what the criminal had said was true. He’d lost his touch. Somewhere in between becoming a father, he’d suddenly lost his ability to defend those he now loved more than anything. And whatever happened, Sherlock swore to himself that Moriarty would never lie another hand on Johann or Molly. Not as long as he was alive to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m hoping this chapter satisfies all the people who’ve complained about either Moriarty bothering Sherlock so frequently, or feeling like some of his attacks were OOC. Personally, I feel like Moriarty is just slowly going more and more insane by this point, so that’s sort of how I’ve been portraying him. But I’d been planning the little Moriarty break for a while, and it fit well here.
> 
> Johann- I played with a number of names, but I couldn’t help but continue coming back to this one. I loved the thought of him having a piece of John but not being an exact copy (because it would become way too confusing with another John running around baker street) plus it allowed Sherlock to name him after some great men like Johann Sebastian Bach, Johann Wolfgang Döbereiner (a chemist), Johann Purkinje (physicist), Johannes Gutenberg, Johann Strauss (composer), and plenty of other great men. I also took the 4 name suggestion! Loved that one too much to pass up on.
> 
> Oh on the King- yeah I mean this is 10 years in the future if you imagine HLV being in 2014, so I sort of imagine there’s a king by that point, but you know…maybe Elizabeth II is immortal or something ;) you never know.
> 
> Thanks to Icecat62, reesiesteve, renniejoy, and deby for the awesome comments!


	24. Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Molly learns a few of Sherlock's motives, a long conversation on chess ensues, and Alex meets his new sibling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m going to admit I made some big mistakes in the last chapter. And I’m a big enough person to admit I might have been a bit quick in my decision to write it. As a result, I had multiple people complain so I do offer my apologies for sloppy writing, any material that has made people feel uneasy/grossed out/uncomfortable (I will be adding new warnings and I have upped the rating), and some potential plot holes/OOC behavior that might have seemed unbelievable. I’m currently debating doing a rewrite. I don’t really know what to do, and I really do feel awful about it.
> 
> You can always tell me these things too. I have really appreciated the very constructive criticism that has been done in a really considerate manner. My inbox is always open to discuss things, or on Tumblr or Twitter if those are easier.

Molly had tried to persuade him to go home after the first few hours in the A & E ward. But Sherlock wouldn’t hear of it. He had to stay with her. He had to be there for Johann and for her. Molly had broken down on the way over. Tears and sobbing and a level of emotion he had never seen in her, even after some of the nasty hormones of pregnancy in the last few months. He wouldn’t let her stay there alone, not that he wanted to leave his son in the first place.

The doctors had taken him in almost the moment they’d entered the hospital. But then again, the wound was deep, it was on a very young child, and it hadn’t stopped bleeding on the way over.

By the time the doctor told him and Molly to sit in the waiting room while their son was looked at, Sherlock was a mess himself. He’d tried to be strong. He’d gone so long being strong. But there in that small room filled with a few other worried waiters, Sherlock found himself breaking down. Tears rushing to his eyes, his breath feeling short, heart beating rapidly as some sort of nervous breakdown threatened his balanced emotional state. He did his best to fight back against it, but there had already been too many battles for one day. And yet again, Sherlock lost.

After what felt like hours someone came to update them on Johann’s status. He’d received stitches, and the doctors were feeling confident that he could go home soon. Molly asked about surgery for the scar, and the nurse quickly said it was too early for that. They’d need to wait for the wound to heal fully, then go in for a consultation to see what a plastic surgeon would say. Molly offered her thanks, graciously mentioning how much she appreciated them taking care of her son. However, from the way the nurse was eyeing the both of them, Sherlock had a good feeling he knew what they were thinking. He just had to hope he could find a way to dissuade child services from visiting him again.

“She thinks we’re terrible parents,” Molly whispered when she was out of earshot.

“We’re not,” Sherlock said. “So ignore her and any of the rest of them.”

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, leaning closer to Sherlock. “We should never have let him just walk away like that. We should have killed that horrible bastard. I just saw red at the moment and if I’d had that gun I would have _killed_ him.” Her jaw clenched and when her eyes opened they were full of a kind or rage that didn’t suit her. “Why didn’t you shoot him? How could you let him walk away? You let this happen to our son! It could have all been over.”

“Our priority was saving our son,” Sherlock said. “And…I need information from him.”

“Information? What kind of information is more important than our _son_?” Molly hissed.

Sherlock shrugged. He couldn’t tell her. Too much of a risk. But she was right. It did sound petty, and his stomach sank as he weighed the two. No, in the end Johann would always be more important. If he’d thought Moriarty was going to actually kill him, he would have pulled that trigger.

“And besides,” he said, changing the subject quickly, “you aren’t thinking about the reality of things. This is Moriarty we’re talking about. He knows I own a gun, Molly. I guarantee it. So what makes you think he’d go into our apartment without a plan if I decided to shoot him? What makes you think there weren’t snipers outside our window who might have shot us the second it was over? Or outside of Harry Watson’s apartment instead. This game with Moriarty is chess, Molly. And in chess you have to not only plan your own move, but think what your opponent’s will be too.”

“Precisely.”

Sherlock turned to see Mycroft in the doorway to the waiting room. His eyes were shadowed, normally confident posture a little more resigned than normal.

“Hello little brother,” Mycroft said. “Avoiding repeating past mistakes I see.”

“Avoiding making the same ones as my brother, yes,” Sherlock said. “If you’re going to insist you’re smarter than me, I’m going to need to prove it’s not so by not making idiotic choices.”

“What are you even talking about?” Molly asked, looking between the two brothers in confusion.

“I’m talking about Mycroft’s decision to shoot a man while out on an MI6 operation and the consequences that followed,” Sherlock said with a sigh. “Oh don’t give me that look, Mycroft. Go on tell Molly how you destroyed four lives in the process. Or don’t you think his memory deserves a little respect?”

Mycroft’s jaw twitched, but ne nodded. “It is true, I’m afraid. The man’s brother came after me. Since I had destroyed his family, he decided to destroy mine.”

Molly’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “But he failed…I mean Sherlock and your parents are still alive.”

Mycroft sighed and Sherlock saw his hand twitch, making the ring glint.

“Our brother…Sherrinford…was shot by a sniper,” Mycroft said. “And an attempt was made on Sherlock’s life that ended up not being successful—”

“Only due to a noble and brave sacrifice,” Sherlock muttered. “One Mycroft has always failed to understand.”

“Oh stop acting like that dumb animal actually knew what it was doing,” Mycroft said. “You still don’t know for sure why he decided to act in the manner he did.”

“Redbeard knew I was in danger and he protected me. Better than you ever did,” Sherlock growled. “The point is, one can’t charge into a situation without considering it carefully.”

“How excellent that you’ve learned that little brother. After your shooting of Magnussen I’d quite thought you had no sense of restraint.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That was different. Calculated. He had me in check and I knew it. It was my last resort.”

“And Moriarty doesn’t have us in check?” Molly demanded. “With him kidnapping our sons and giving them physical and mental scars? We’re practically checkmated, Sherlock. How can you think otherwise?”

“I knew in that moment at Magnussen’s that John would _never_ have happiness so long as that man was alive,” Sherlock said. “Mary was always going to be in danger, and it meant he and Alex and her would never have had a moment’s peace. I knew that every good play involves sacrifice, and at the time, I felt my own would have been worth it. After all, if it comes to saving the life of the king, any queen is worth disposing of. My game was over, I had nothing left while John had a wife and child. So I stepped aside to allow him to continue on even if it meant my game was over,” Sherlock muttered.

“But the queen is a more valuable player than the king,” Molly said with a sigh.

“Precisely,” Sherlock said. “And Moriarty is the king, not the queen. And in this particular game of chess, the major players must be eliminated before we can take out the king. For Magnussen, yes he had some connections, but in the end he was a lone shark who never had anyone who cared about him in any great capacity. He’d threatened and intimidated enough people that with his death the game _was_ over. No one cared. Moriarty…Moriarty is a different sort of breed. He’s made connections with some of the most dangerous criminals out there, and he’s _helped_ them, not just exploited them for his own purpose. We kill the king in this game, and the queen, the pawns, the knights, the rooks, the bishops come down on us with vengeance.”

Molly rubbed her temple. “So we do what exactly, Sherlock?”

“Dismantle his network. Take out the other major players. Find his bishops, get them rooks out of the way. Pawns will disperse when the major figure heads are gone. And when Moriarty is _alone_ , then we take him out. I’ve already been working on this. I know both of you think I’ve been lazing about, but this has been my project. I’ve done it before and I will do it now.”

“But last time you killed him first, then his network,” Molly pointed out.

“And I had to fake my death in order to do so and continue to live undercover for two years. You want me to do that now with our family?” Sherlock snapped. “Is that what you want Molly? For me to leave you and Alex and Johann? Besides, I don’t believe this trick will work twice, do you?”

Molly looked close to tears. “No. But god Sherlock, I don’t want him hurting our son. I can’t stand it. I’d rather he killed me than let him touch Johann again.”

“I will never let Moriarty touch him again,” Sherlock said in a low voice. “I will continue my work. It will be easier with him gone. And when the time comes, I will finish Moriarty off myself. If you think I’m so heartless as to not feel anything about what he did to Johann—” he broke off, his throat suddenly feeling far too tight. “I’m not a complete monster, Molly. I wanted to pull that trigger. I wanted him to suffer. And I swear to you Molly that if he ever lays another hand on Johann I won’t let him get away with it a second time. I’m not going to let that happen.”

Mycroft sighed. “We will have to hope that time never comes,” he said. “You’ve mentioned he’s gone. Where exactly?”

“He didn’t say. But I would imagine he’s interested in some of the political problems in China,” Sherlock said. “I can’t say for certain. Out of England.”

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Well, I’ll see if we can find any clues. In the meantime, I agree with you. Keep dismantling the network and when the time comes we will have Moriarty destroyed. If we need to, we can put you two and Alexander and Johann into protective custody. It’s not ideal, but it would help.”

Sherlock thought a moment. “Speaking of Johann, perhaps you want to go see him and also use your magic government powers to clear up the fact that we’re not abusive. Of course if that’s all right, _uncle_ Mycroft?” Sherlock muttered.

He wondered briefly if Mycroft might just decide to allow the abuse complaints to go through. Perhaps Mycroft would feel the same way about Johann as he had with Alex… that he would be better off in someone else’s care. Sherlock felt sick at the mere thought.

“Of course,” Mycroft said, and walked to the door. “Anything for my nephew.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his attention had refocused on Molly who was still looking rather tearful.

“I swear to you,” Sherlock said. “He will not hurt him again.”

Molly nodded and bit her lip before glancing in the direction Mycroft had gone. “You said four lives? He destroyed four lives?”

Sherlock shrugged. “An unconfirmed deduction. But I always suspected. The switch of the ring to his right hand ring finger…”

Molly reached up a hand to cover her mouth. “Oh…so he’s…”

Sherlock nodded and looked away. “Yes.”

Molly was silent a long moment and then one of her hands came out to reach for his. “That could be you. If…if Moriarty’s network killed us then.”

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted. “And I would not be surprised if Moriarty doesn’t care if he dies, so long as I’m left in lonely solitude knowing my decisions caused the deaths of everyone I love. In fact, I’m quite certain he would find that one of the best endings possible. Killing me is obvious. Leaving me a hollow shell of a man, alone and broken, hiding behind a façade to try to make do with what I have…yes that I imagine he’d love. And who knows, maybe if I haven’t killed myself in a year he’s given orders to someone else to do that too.”

She moved forward and kissed his lips tenderly. Sherlock breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled her into his arms to hug her.

“We’ll find a way through this, Molly,” he said. “I know we will.”

“I believe you, Sherlock Holmes,” she whispered. “Even trying to muddle through your messy chess comparisons.”

Sherlock sighed into her hair. “Yes. And Molly…the same holds true in this game as it did in my game with Magnussen.”

She pulled back to peer at him curiously.

“You, and Alex, and Johann are my king,” he whispered softly. “And I will sacrifice myself if the time comes in order to make sure your games continue. I will do everything in my power not to let you go down. Because I know if you do…I’m finished too. What good is a queen without its king?”

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly whispered. Tears came full-fledged and he took her back in his arms as she let out weak wracking sobs into his shoulder. He patted her shoulder, trying to give some semblance of comfort. But he knew what he’d said was true. In the end he didn’t matter. All that he wanted was to keep his new family alive.

* * *

 

 

It was early morning by the time they were released from the hospital. Whatever explanation Mycroft had given appeared to do the trick, and the doctors allowed them to leave without any trouble. Sherlock sent Molly home and went to pick up Alex from Harry’s. He was incredibly relieved when he saw his older son, unharmed, smiling.

“We had some problems,” he told Alex on the way home. “Johann is going to look a little funny because Moriarty got a hold of him last night. But he’s doing all right for now.”

Alex nodded at that, though he appeared more withdrawn at the mere mention of the consulting criminal.

“You named him Johann?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “After your father. And one of his middle names is Arthur like you wanted.”

Alex beamed at that, and Sherlock reached out an arm to wrap him into a side hug.

They reached home to find Mrs. Hudson with Johann in their sitting room.

“Molly was exhausted so I sent her to bed,” she said with a warm smile. “Poor dear. Alex, darling, come hold him why don’t you? He’s just a lovely little thing. Very calm actually.”

Alex went over to where she was. He gave Sherlock a questioning glance before sitting on the sofa and reaching out his arms.

“Just like cousin Ella,” Sherlock said. “Support his head.”

One hand went under Johann’s head and the other reached out to carefully cup him close. Sherlock was unable to restrain a slight smile when he watched a look of amazement come over Alex’s face.

“He’s really small,” Alex said.

“Yes, he is,” Sherlock agreed. “But he’ll grow. Faster than you realize.”

Alex smiled down at the baby. “Hi Jojo,” he said. Sherlock winced at the ridiculous nickname. He was hoping it wouldn’t stick. “I’m your big brother, Alex. Or well…sort of. Molly and Sherlock kind of adopted me.”

“You are his brother, dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Don’t you doubt that. And you’ll be a good one too.”

There was another brilliant smile and then Alex was continuing to babble to the baby in his arms. Sherlock just shook his head and went to sit in his chair.

“You look exhausted, Sherlock. Go take a nap with Molly. I can watch these two. I already told her I’d come get her if the little one gets hungry.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’m fine. And I have work to do. Lots of work in fact.”

“All right, well suit yourself. But you cannot be exhausted as a father,” Mrs. Hudson said, shaking her head. “It just simply can’t be done.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and ignored her, snatching Molly’s laptop off of her chair and readying himself for work. He glanced briefly towards the boys, letting that brief pang in his heart fuel him as he started into his work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my commenters deby, reesiesteve, and Icecat62. 
> 
> On Mycroft- There is a ring on his right hand that’s shown a few times. Obviously fan speculations vary, but this fit nicely in the story so that was my decision. Hope that answered those of you who had pointed out Mycroft must have secrets in an earlier chapter.


	25. Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and Molly have one of their first fights about Johann, Sherlock makes a promise to Lestrade, and Alex has a horrible sense of timing that leaves Sherlock wondering if he can do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Molly and Sherlock argue over a controversial topic. I’m not advocating for either side in particular, I’m simply showing how important compromise and understanding are in any relationship.
> 
> Hi guys…sorry I haven’t updated in a long time. Honestly, I kind of stopped loving this story after some of the problems with the last few chapters. I still want to finish it, but I just don’t feel the same joy I had before when I write. On top of that I’ve been having some personal problems, so that hasn’t helped anything.
> 
> I promise I will do my best to finish this story.

He’d suspected that no argument as a parent could measure up to his and Molly’s about how they’d handled Moriarty. Of course, to his surprise they had one about a week later nearly of the same proportion.

“Why would we do something so ridiculous!” Sherlock yelled. “You’re a scientist for god’s sake. Why would something so pointless matter to you?”

“Because it’s tradition in my family,” Molly said. “I was raised Catholic, Sherlock. I want my son baptized.”

Sherlock sighed and put a hand to his forehead. “It’s ridiculous nonsense. Sprinkling magic water on a baby is pointless and superstitious. I thought you were smarter than that. And does this mean you’re going to want to raise him filling his head with lies? You want to brainwash our son with nonsense?”

Molly let out a long breath. “No. I will probably let him know my own traditions, but he is free to choose his own. I think there’s a good amount of value in having some sort of moral code, but he’s free to define that for himself. You’re the one who would probably have a fit if he was anything other than atheist.”

Sherlock ignored the comment. She was being ridiculous. “You’re Catholic? I’ve never seen you go to church,” Sherlock growled, turning to gaze at her suspiciously.

“It’s called mass, and no I haven’t in a long time. I used to go on Easter and Christmas, but it’s been a while.”

Sherlock ground his teeth together. “How did I not know this? How did I not see it?”

“I just want him baptized, Sherlock,” Molly said. “It’s not a lifelong commitment or anything else. I’m not signing him up to become a monk for the rest of his life. I just…I want to follow in my family’s footsteps in this respect….I know it’s a bit silly but…it’s what my parents would have wanted me to do.”

“Your parents are dead,” Sherlock snapped, and then he winced when he saw Molly’s pained expression. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. But it is true. It doesn’t matter what they want now.”

Molly sighed. “It’s just a baptism, Sherlock. You don’t even have to be there. I’ll do it myself.”

“We’re not even married, how’s the church going to like that?” Sherlock said.

“It’s been done before, Sherlock,” Molly said.

“Was I baptized?” Alex suddenly broke in, looking up from his book.

Molly turned a pointed look at Sherlock.

“No,” Sherlock said. “Rightfully so. Neither of your parents practiced any kind of religion. And since Molly doesn’t practice one I don’t see why she wants to do this.”

Alex stuck out his lower lip. “I want to be baptized too.”

Molly put a hand over her eyes, especially as Sherlock rounded on Alex.

“No you do not,” he snapped. “You are an intelligent young man and you will not fall for these ridiculous lies that a little water is somehow going to magically transport you to a mythical realm after you die.”

Alex continued to pout.

“You can come,” Molly said to Alex before rounding on Sherlock. “I’m taking Johann whether you want it or not, Sherlock. I’ve tried to be reasonable, but you are acting absolutely—” She took a deep breath, obviously searching for the right word, “ridiculous.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “But don’t expect me to come.”

“I won’t.” Molly turned to Alex. “Why don’t you help take Johann on a walk with me?”

Alex perked up and put his book aside. “Okay.”

“Perhaps Sherlock will have figured out he can’t always have his way by the time we return.”

“I don’t always have my way,” Sherlock muttered as they grabbed their coats and scooped Johann out of his playpen wrapping a blanket firmly around him before she walked out. He heard the sound of her pulling the pram out of the hallway and cooing something to Johann before their footsteps went to the hallway.

A few seconds after the front door slammed shut, Sherlock heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned in time to see Mrs. Hudson peering in.

“Is everything all right? I heard shouting?”

“Molly’s being ridiculous,” Sherlock said with a sigh, sinking into his chair and running a hand over her face.

“Ridiculous about what dear?” Mrs. Hudson said, coming in with a plate of sweets in her hand. Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest when she set them down on the table next to him before taking a seat.

“Are you religious, Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock asked, eyeing her cautiously. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his judgement on the issue after Molly had proved him wrong.

“Oh…I went to church now and then as a child,” Mrs. Hudson said with a smile. “But I’ve sort of drifted off now. I don’t really know what to believe.”

“Agnostic then?” Sherlock muttered.

“Perhaps,” she said. “What’s with the curiosity? Reconsidering your options?”

“I was wondering if you’d sympathize more with Molly or me. She wants Johann to be baptized,” Sherlock muttered. “I don’t understand the point.”

“Oh…well it is sort of traditional,” Mrs. Hudson said with a frown. “Just one of those things I suppose for some people.”

“Tradition is for the weak minded,” Sherlock said. “Those who can’t forge their own paths. Molly hardly cares much about any sort of faith.”

Mrs. Hudson sighed. “Being with someone is all about compromise, Sherlock. If John taught you anything I thought it would be that.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, not bothering to correct her.

“And Molly…she’s given a lot more than you have,” Mrs. Hudson said. “Why I think she does value tradition quite a bit, poor dear. She told me once that her whole childhood she’d dreamed a sweet little stereotypical life…cottage with two children and a dog and a cat. A lovely wedding and a husband who would take her out dancing.” Mrs. Hudson let out a soft sigh before realizing she’d trailed off.

“Do you have a point?” Sherlock said.

“Oh, don’t you see, dear? She’s given up all that for you. Living in a little flat in London with a child that isn’t hers. You compromised on the baby, of course, but she’s never asked you for a wedding or to move elsewhere. She’s never asked you to get an actual job so she doesn’t have to work or for you to take any more traditional husbandly roles. Even having Johann she agreed to not do a traditional shower or any of the usual fuss women make over their first child.”

Sherlock frowned and considered. It was true. The evidence did point to Molly rather disregarding tradition entirely when it came to the two of them.

“She’s a lovely girl, Sherlock. And she’s given up so much for you. Wouldn’t it be nice if you’d give up a little for her?” Mrs. Hudson said. “I know she doesn’t want to say anything. But it might be nice if you’d do that, don’t you think?”

Sherlock sighed but did eventually give a nod. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson had a point.

“Besides, you could use all the protection you can get for that little boy,” Mrs. Hudson said, lines creasing her forehead.

“What shall I buy him a rabbit’s foot and surround his cot with various amulets and good luck charms,” Sherlock muttered.

Mrs. Hudson shrugged. “Just a thought. You be good to Molly, Sherlock dear. You promise me.”

“I will _be good_ to her, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said. “Now if you don’t mind I have some work to do.”

“Oh you behave, Sherlock Holmes,” she scolded, even though she did go to the door.

He shook his head and went over to the table to start up work again. There was no point arguing over how to raise their son if they couldn’t eliminate the threats to his life.

When Molly came back from the walk she didn’t bring up the subject again. Sherlock allowed her to dictate their discussion topics, which mostly ranged from her mentioning the interesting things she’d seen on the walk and what the plans were for dinner.

That evening Sherlock finally decided it was time to relent. Mrs. Hudson did have a few good points. And if Molly could give up a normal traditional life for him, he could occasionally give her a few moments of tradition.

He came into the bedroom to find Molly on the bed nursing Johann. For a moment it felt like something was stuck in his throat. He brushed off the ridiculous feeling and came over to sit on the opposite side. Molly smiled at him and then looked back down at their son’s face.

“Someone’s hungry tonight,” Sherlock remarked.

“Yes, he is indeed,” Molly said. “Though I’m certain he’ll be up in another few hours wanting more. Little glutton.”

“Hmm…”

“Well, at least one good thing came out of this little monster,” Molly said.

“And that is?” Sherlock said, wondering what on earth could cause Molly to say there was only one good thing about the child she clearly adored.

“Oh…well…” Molly turned a bit pink. “I thought you might like them a bit better now…since they’re…bigger…”

It took him a moment to realize she was referring to her breasts.

“They were always—” He paused and realized she was referring to his prior comments. “Molly…I’ve said some awful things in the past and I’m…I’m truly sorry. As someone who believes beauty is a social construct, it was hypocritical of me to point out your features that didn’t quite match with the preferences of society. You are…quite lovely,” he said, unable to keep a smile from showing. “And I find you quite attractive all things considered.”

“I find you quite attractive too,” Molly said. “Even if your facial proportions aren’t exactly normal.”

“Touché,” he muttered and leaned in to peck her lips. “Molly…I want you to baptize Johann. I know it’s important to you.”

She pulled away from him and frowned. “All right, what do you want?”

Sherlock’s forehead crinkled. “What are you…? Oh. Nothing. I simply…realized I was being a bit stubborn and proceeded to realize I was making a mistake in my quick judgement of the situation. I have reconsidered and decided you baptizing your son does no real harm.”

“Our son,” Molly corrected, still gazing at him suspiciously. “And what changed your mind?”

“Oh well…I just…thought it might be better if I…” He paused, realizing she was still glaring at him. “Mrs. Hudson might have threatened me to be nice to you.”

Molly laughed and shook her head. “Now that makes so much more sense. But still…thank you…it means a lot to me, Sherlock.”

“I know it does,” Sherlock said. He reached for Molly’s hand and squeezed it tight in his own. “We’re in this together, Molly Hooper. I need you to know I’m here for you no matter what. If this proves it…so be it.”

She smiled and leaned in to peck his cheek before wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head on his shoulder. “I know. And you don’t have to prove anything, Sherlock. I was being inconsiderate of your own values. I’ll do my best to not care too much for my old traditions in the future, all right?”

He smiled. “Well, it sounds like we have some sort of a compromise. I’m sure Mrs. Hudson will be thrilled her advice worked so well.”

Molly nodded and turned to press a more heated kiss to his mouth.

“Molly,” he said with a sigh. “I don’t want to cause anymore arguments…but you are aware we can’t be intimate until you’ve fully healed up, right?”

Her face contorted into a look of utter disgust. “Yes, Sherlock! The mere thought of that sounds awful right now. But that doesn’t mean we can’t kiss or…have a cuddle or anything.”

He was incapable or restraining an eye roll at her mention of cuddling, but he nonetheless wrapped his own arm around her and pulled her close. Compromise. It had its uses he supposed.

* * *

 

 

Lestrade had texted him a few days after the birth and said they couldn’t meet up for any discussion for another week. So Sherlock waited, though he certainly didn’t do so quietly. Molly complained more than once that he needed to simply find work on his own or pick up a few more clients or something rather than pacing 221 B waiting for Lestrade to text him back. But after one day of being particularly restless, she finally stopped being nice about it.

“He’s got a lot on his plate right now, Sherlock,” Molly snapped. “With the deaths at Buckingham palace and all I’m sure he’s getting hell. You let him do his job, and figure out something to do in the meantime.” She paused and glanced sharply towards their bedroom where crying had just started. “Like changing Johann’s nappy.”

Molly seemed to be under some false impression that Sherlock was absolutely disgusted by the premise of changing a dirty nappy. So she frequently used it as some kind of punishment. Sherlock hadn’t yet let on that he felt no such thing.

“Natural body process,” he muttered as he lifted Johann out of his cot. “But don’t tell your mother. I think she gets some sense of satisfaction out of banishing me off to do this not so pleasant task. All it means is that you’re a healthy normal baby.”

As he held his son for a moment he noticed the gray eyes focusing on him. He moved slightly to the side and watched Johann’s gaze following him. Right on time. Normal development, Sherlock thought.

“You see me don’t you? Already using those small observation skills you have?” Sherlock said. “Well, for now we’ll just settle for actually being able to focus, hmm? When you get older we’ll start honing those skills and make them more useful. Most people see but don’t observe.”

Such a smart boy, Sherlock found himself smiling. Such a small thing, but still very valuable.

He was interrupted from his considerations when his phone beeped. He pulled it out and peered down at the text from Lestrade. Finally!

“Daddy has to go save England,” he told Johann. “I’ll be back to spend more time with you and your mother later, all right? You continue with all your sleep. After all, there’s not much else for you to do yet. When you’re older perhaps you’ll agree with me that sleep is rather a wasteful use of time. There are so many more important things to do. But for now…might as well.”

Sherlock noted that the baby still seemed to be rather alert at the moment, so he carried him out to Molly.

“Oh hello darling, did daddy make you feel better?” Molly asked, scooping him out of Sherlock’s arms and planting a few soft kisses on his forehead and cheeks. Sherlock noted she avoided the scar, and he felt something inside him twist painfully. Moriarty would pay. All the better he was seeing Lestrade to form a strategy today.

“Lestrade just informed me he has a spare five minutes to see me.”

Molly sighed. “Of course he does. Rewarding you for your pouting. I swear Alex picked it up from you and I won’t be surprised if Johann has a good pout going before he’s even two.”

“I don’t pout,” Sherlock snapped. “Brood maybe. But those are entirely different things.”

She shook her head and smiled. “If you say so. Good luck with Lestrade, give him my regards, all right?”

He gave a nod before throwing on his scarf and coat, heading out of the flat more determined than ever.

Lestrade looked absolutely exhausted. Circles under his eyes, and he was wearing clothes that Sherlock could tell had been worn probably three days in a row. His office was a mess, and he had to clear space for Sherlock to sit down.

“I’m afraid to ask how you are,” Sherlock admitted.

“Yeah don’t bother,” Lestrade grunted. “Things are a bloody mess right now. Trying to deal with all this at once….Christ. I don’t know what to do anymore. Your brother came by and clarified a few things. Sounds like Royalty Protection is dealing with most of what happened at the palace, but we’ve still had to help out you know. And the ridiculous homeless mass killings have left us with quite the project trying to track down identities and figuring out how much to release to the press. I don’t envy your brother right now, that’s for sure.”

“No, he’s been quite busy,” Sherlock agreed. “Did he mention our personal situation?”

“Yeah, your baby boy…god I want to shoot the bastard in the face myself. You’ve got some kind of a plan I hope?”

“I’m working on one,” Sherlock said. “Implementing a plan where parts of the network can be taken out without causing too much of a stir. It won’t be easy. I’m estimating it will take a few years at least. And even then we’ll have to probably wait for Moriarty to show his head again. I’ve already told Mycroft other countries need to be made aware of his presence. But he could hide out for eras if he wanted to.”

“But he won’t,” Lestrade pointed out. “Likes the attention too bloody much, doesn’t he?”

“It will be his undoing, yes,” Sherlock said. “Or so I hope. I’m leaving you the names of two of his major operatives that I’ve already discovered. If you would be so kind as to see the proper channels start working on taking them down…it would be helpful. In the meantime I’ll continue to dig…though I’ll need to maintain some semblance of normalcy….probably maintaining a few personal clients and helping on a few other cases.”

“Christ,” Lestrade said again. “Yeah, all right. I’ll look into it. Sherlock…you got any pictures of the little one? I must admit I’m curious.”

Sherlock kept his face neutral even as a certain amount of pride filled him at the thought of showing off his son. He pulled out his phone and flipped to a photo he’d taken of Molly and Johann at the hospital.

“Aw,” Lestrade said with a smile. “You a dad. I still can’t believe it, even after all this time.” He paused and suddenly gave Sherlock a thoughtful look. “You can’t work yourself too hard, all right? Got to be there to see him growing up. Kids get big fast…blink and you miss it.”

“I’m sure I’ll have an adequate amount of time to be with him, especially once all of this Moriarty nonsense is put to rest once and for all,” Sherlock said.

“Still, nothing worse than a father who’s there but not really _there_ if you know what I mean.”

Sherlock swallowed, thinking back to his own parents who were too often busy with their own work and social life and other projects. It was true.

“I’ll be there,” he said. “I will.”

* * *

 

 

“Sherlock,” Molly yelled from the top of the stairs.

He set aside his laptop and stood up. “What did I do this time?” he muttered, glancing at Toby who was staring at him from under the sofa. “Hmm? I can never get anything right.”

And right on cue there was crying from the other room too. Sherlock groaned as he tried to figure out whom he should answer first. After a moment he decided to go for the most logical choice. He quickly went to the bedroom and scooped Johann out of his cot. A quick deduction based on smell made him decide the crying was likely out of hunger. He pulled the still squalling infant close and headed back to the stairs.

“What is it?” he asked, halfway up.

“It’s Alex he’s—” Molly broke off as she caught sight of Johann. “Don’t bring him up here!”

“Why not? He’s either hungry or wants comforting. Either way he should be with you not me.”

“Well I will come tend to him in a moment downstairs. But right now the fact is Alex is ill,” Molly said.

Sherlock froze. “Ill? What do you mean? Is he all right? Should we take him to the hospital?”

For some reason with each word he spoke his chest seemed to become tighter and breathing seemed to become more difficult.

Molly stared at him. “No. It’s a stomach virus of some kind. Either something he ate or something from school or…who knows. My guess is after a good day of vomiting he’ll be back to school tomorrow. But he is running a fever right now and I want to make sure it comes down, so for now I need you to stay with him…and keep Johann downstairs and wash your hands between caring for the two of them.”

“Because of risk of infection,” Sherlock said, nodding his understanding. “Though most likely it was something ingested…perhaps you’d like me to check our food and see if there are any problems with that.”

“If you could. And just see to it that Alex has anything he needs.”

“Yes, I understand. But why can’t you care for Johann and I care for Alex?” Sherlock asked, already wondering how he was going to balance getting any work done with two people needing constant care.

“Because I’m going to the gym for a bit for my exercise class,” Molly said. “Honestly, I’ve already paid for it and I need to start working this weight off somewhere. It shouldn’t be too long. If I feed Johann now he should be fine until I get back. I trust you with both of them. You’ll do fine.”

“Is this a test?” he asked.

Molly laughed. “Oh Sherlock, I know better than to test you. I know how wonderful you are. It’s why I can leave a sick child and a baby with you and not fret. I know you’ll do just fine. If you’d rather I will skip my class though…”

“No,” Sherlock said. “No, you can go…I’ll be fine. It’s just…making sure Alex has what he needs and Johann will likely just sleep.”

“Exactly,” Molly said, leaning in to peck his cheek. “Now, go take Johann down for me. I’ll wash my hands and then come take care of him.”

Sherlock sighed and did as instructed. He was still trying to reconcile what had happened when Molly had told him Alex was ill. It reminded him of that moment on the moors when he’d seen the hound in his drugged state…panic…irrational uncontrollable fear. But why?

He shook off his thoughts, eager to simply move forward. Fear was ridiculous, especially in such circumstances. He brushed off the worries and set about doing his best to calm Johann down while Molly cleaned up her hands.

Once she took him, he went up to see Alex. He opened the door to find the normally energetic boy pale and still, lying beneath a few layers of blankets. He didn’t perk up in the slightest when he saw Sherlock.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Sherlock asked.

Alex shook his head before rasping, “no.”

Sherlock sighed and went over to the window to crack it open. A bit of fresh air in the stuffy and rank room would likely help. He then went over to Alex, smoothing a hand through his hair and feeling for himself that the boy did indeed have a temperature.

“Make sure you’re drinking plenty,” Sherlock said. “You need to keep hydrated.”

“‘M trying,” Alex said. “Keeps coming up.”

“All the more reason,” Sherlock said. “I think in a few hours most of this will probably pass and we can see if Mrs. Hudson might be able to make you some broth or something easy on the stomach.”

Alex didn’t even offer a smile at the offer. Sherlock felt uncomfortable in the silence and straightened up.

“All right, well try to get some rest. You can call me…or send me a text or something if you need anything. I’ll be right downstairs, all right?”

“Can you bring…Toby up?” Alex asked.

Sherlock sighed but decided to cater to Alex’s whims considering how ill he was. He went downstairs and did his best to corner the cat. He ended up with five sets of scratches on his arms and a very disgruntled cat hiding under Alex’s bed.

“He’ll come out when he’s ready,” Alex said, even as he frowned.

“I suppose he will. Anything else?” Sherlock said, hoping there wasn’t.

Alex shook his head and curled the blankets up tighter around himself.

“Good, then get some good rest, all right?”

Alex nodded, even as his eyes closed. Sherlock hoped he would sleep.

An hour later, Sherlock was extremely glad when Molly returned. Johann had been restless and colicky. Alex had vomited two more times and didn’t seem to be keeping much of anything down and was to a point of utter misery. And even in sixty minutes, Sherlock was at his wit’s end.

He accosted Molly the moment she came in the door, pushing Johann back into her arms who soothed quite quickly to her touch, falling asleep in a matter of minutes. And after that was done he sent her up to Alex and watched as she whispered reassurances and lifted up a water bottle for him to sip at, smoothing his blankets and fluffing his pillow for him before leaving.

“You have a knack for this I simply don’t,” Sherlock admitted begrudgingly later.

“Oh Sherlock,” Molly said with a sigh. “No one is going to have an easy time with this. Sick children, crying babies…most every parent has trouble with those things every now and then. I have memories of my mother trying to care for all three of us who were sick with chicken pox at once. She honestly started bawling after a particularly long hard day. It’s exhausting. But we’ll get through it together.”

“I hope so,” Sherlock muttered. “My god, this will be the death of me. The great Sherlock Holmes, killed by exhaustion trying to raise children.”

Molly giggled and leaned in to give him a hug. “Well, I suppose there will be bad days…but the good ones will make up for it.”

“They’d better,” he said.

* * *

 

 

Johann’s first smile made up for it in full.

Six weeks old and able to flash what would have clearly been a smile if he had teeth to show. Lips curling and little eyes lighting with some level of happiness. Sherlock smiled back, doing his best to encourage the obvious joy his son was showing. It was what he wanted most after all. Johann happy and healthy and able to live life as he wanted.

Sherlock smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to Johann’s temple.

“My precious boy,” he murmured. “What would your mother and I do without you?”

His eyes met those of his son. He let his promise remain in their shared gaze, letting his son know without speaking every bit of love he felt. And how hard he was going to try to change things for the better.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No, I don’t think anywhere in the show there’s any indication Molly has any religious background, but I thought it would create a little extra conflict between the two. One of those lovely problems that can spring up between a couple, especially parents. Seriously, compromise and understanding and communication are so so important.
> 
> Thanks to reesiesteve, deby, renniejoy, applejack0808, and Icecat62 for commenting. You guys are awesome. 
> 
> I have to say the best way to keep me going on this project is to comment folks. The more encouragement I get, the more eager I am to finish writing. Also, it’s a great way to give me some awesome suggestions for anything you’d like to happen before I end this thing.
> 
> Well, until next time! -elsarenard


	26. Twenty-Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock meets his in-law, has a few problems at home, and finds help in two different places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one to make up for the wait!

Sherlock groaned and rubbed his eyes for the seventeenth time since he'd woken up that morning. While he wasn't used to a lot of sleep in general, there was something about being woken up every hour to crying. Especially since the sound of it often sent his thoughts flashing back to that awful night. Often even after he lulled Johann back to sleep, he couldn't rest.

His nerves felt frayed. Every noise seemed to set him off now a days. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't relax. The work with Moriarty's network was slow and not doing as well as he'd thought it might. And though he was doing his best to simply enjoy the time he had with his new little family; he simply couldn't.

Molly was excited, but Sherlock found even her smiles irritating today. If only he'd told her no. Then he wouldn't be dealing with this.

But the knock at the door told him that what had come to pass was already happening, and it was too late for regrets.

"Robert!" Molly cried when she opened the door. "How lovely to see you!"

"Hello Molly," the man in the door replied as Molly opened it wider for him to come in. "Merry belated Christmas. And Happy New Year. I brought presents for the little tikes."

He was pushing brightly wrapped boxes into her hands while Molly beamed at him.

"Oh and something for you of course too. Since I haven't met your man I couldn't figure out what to get him so I settled for promising to take both of you out for food or drinks instead."

Sherlock grimaced and went back to staring at his laptop instead of getting up.

"Sherlock," Molly said. "Robert's here. Just like I said he'd be."

Sherlock sighed and looked up at the man about a foot taller than Molly with the same mousy brown hair and warm eyes. His eyes scanned over the details. Perfectly manicured fingernails. Impeccably unwrinkled clothing, even after a train ride, but the red raw skin on the knuckles said something else entirely. He looked up and saw a chain loosely concealed under his collar then down again to the bag, glancing at the tag on it and remarking the name he saw there.

"You didn't mention your brother was serious about anyone, Molly," Sherlock said.

"What?" Molly spun to face him. "Sherlock we talked about—"

"Oh come, you're not the tiniest bit curious?" Sherlock asked with a smirk, snapping the computer closed. "The tag on your suitcase has a woman's name. As she doesn't bear your last name I know it's not your mother's or your other sister's. So Miss Alice Perreault must be a girlfriend. Or likely the case considering you're using her suitcase. Probably another way to remember her besides the necklace of hers you're wearing as a keepsake. However, all things considered would it be more appropriate for me to call her Dr. Perreault? That is how you met, wasn't it? After all, symbols of an engagement are usually just a ring on the hand, but yours is hidden under you're shirt.

Molly frowned. "Sherlock, Robert would have told me if he was engaged. Stop it would you? It's just a little gift between the two of them probably."

"Oh please, the finery of that piece of jewelry is far too much for a love trinket. Especially considering the lower quality clothes you wear and the suitcase which was a sale buy a few years ago, you can see where they messed up the stitching hence why it was marked down. So why would you hide an engagement symbol? Quite obvious, because you're keeping it a secret." He smiled when Robert squirmed. "So what, is she married already? Or at least having an affair? But I looked at the handwriting on that tag and I could see that the address listed is for an apartment not too far away from Cambridge. So she studied there most likely. Judging by the fading I'd say maybe ten years ago. But of course, I also notice she scribbled a little symbol behind her name probably so someone could find her in her program if need be. But crossed it out and wrote MD instead when she changed her mind. The first, though barely legible appears to be a PhD, so clearly we're talking about someone who began in psychology and decided to go more into a path of psychiatry instead. So a psychiatrist? How does a man like yourself working a desk job meet someone like that? Simple, you're her patient."

Molly gasped. "Sherlock, stop it right now!"

"Your immaculate dressing and attention to your level of personal grooming made me initially think gay, but on a second look I noticed your hands are raw on the back. Not like wear from hard labor, that would be on the front of the palm or the fingers. But this—this is a sign of over washing. Hence showing you have obsessive compulsive disorder. So you're seeing someone for this problem. Therefore Miss Perrault is your psychiatrist and she's violating your professional relationship so that's why she's keeping things secret for now, even though she has apparently been staying at your place for some time, hence the suitcase."

"Sherlock," Molly scolded. "Robert, I'm so sorry."

"No, you warned me," Robert said, though he didn't smile. "And besides, he's absolutely right. Alice is my doctor. We are sneaking around a bit so she doesn't lose her job. I need to transfer to someone else, but we just haven't done it yet. Once that's finished we'll make it official…"

"Still, it wasn't kind," Molly said. "Especially pointing out your OCD."

Robert shrugs. "It is what it is. Well, pleasure to meet you Sherlock."

"Sherlock, go fetch Alex," Molly said.

He rolled his eyes but decided to comply. She was irritated enough that it was probably best to just follow her instructions from here on out. But he had to prove a point. And he still wasn't sure if he liked or trusted Molly's brother. Just because they were family did not mean he was going to be kind to the man.

"Alex, your uncle is here," he called up the stairs. "Please come down."

A head popped down onto the landing. "Wait, my uncle? I thought I only had aunts?"

"Molly's brother," Sherlock said. "Whom I am sure you will be calling Uncle Robert at Molly's insistence."

"Oh, yeah," Alex said. He came down the rest of the stairs, dressed in a button up shirt and black trousers, though both had smears of what looked to be dust on them.

"What have you been doing?" Sherlock said. "Molly will have a fit."

"Sorry," he said, ducking his head. "I dropped my phone under the bed and had to go get it."

"Well, first thing tomorrow I suspect you will be cleaning your room," Sherlock said.

"Aw, you can't tell me to do that!" Alex said. "Or I'll tell Molly that last time she told you to clean you just moved a few things around and wiped a bit of dust under the furniture."

Sherlock frowned but he couldn't argue with it. He sighed.

"Fine, now come on, let's meet Uncle Robert."

Molly had Johann out of his cot by the time they were downstairs and was already showing him to her brother. Alex bounded over so as to not be left out.

"Our boys," Sherlock said. "Both incredible in their own rights.

Molly turned and eyed him, probably liking his use of that particular possessive pronoun. She gave a small smile though her beautiful eyes were glittering.

"Alex, it's nice to meet you at last," Robert said with a smile to the boy. "I brought you a present."

"Really? Where is it?" Alex said, though one look from Molly had him bowing his head slightly. "I mean…thank you. I'll look forward to opening it later."

"No," Robert said, kneeling down and unzipping his suitcase. He pulled out a small soft package wrapped in tissue paper.

Having been properly chastised, Alex took the object patiently, even though Sherlock could see he wanted to rip it open. He pulled back the paper to reveal a football jersey in red and white.

"Aw cool! Like the ones at the World Cup!"

"Your mum—Molly…Molly mentioned you liked football," Robert offered. "Thought you might like one of your own."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "One day Alex might be out playing on that world cup field. Quite the talented athlete. And he's taking up track and field this spring too. Alongside his martial arts where he's nearing his blue belt."

Alex sent him a confused look but shrugged it off in favor of slipping the jersey on over his shirt. He stared down in disappointment as it hung relatively loosely on his skinny frame.

"You'll grow into it," Molly said.

"Of course, you shot up several centimeters in the last few months alone," Sherlock said. "Healthy and growing. Just like your brother. Both of you are changing before my very eyes."

Molly just shook her head, barely hiding a grin. "It's true though. You turn around and Johann has changed so drastically."

"Aw he's a cutie," Robert said, leaning down to peer a little closer at the wiggling bundle in Molly's arms. "Mum and dad would be so proud of you, Molly."

"Of course they would," Sherlock said. "Two perfect children, an amazing career, and still managing to be smart and kind and beautiful all at once.

Molly looked at him again, blinking a few times as though trying to be sure she was actually awake and she'd heard him correctly.

"What is going on with you?" she managed to whisper when Robert went with Alex to fetch his football so he could go try playing in his jersey.

"Just enjoying time with the family. Isn't that what you wanted?" Sherlock asked.

"You're showing off," Molly said. "It's…it's no different than what you were doing earlier with your deduction skills." She let out a little laugh and smiled at him. "Sherlock, you want to show off your family."

"I do not," Sherlock snapped. "I'm simply showing your brother that you are well taken care of and that the children are both doing well and reassuring him since he might have some reservations. Though with his messy relationship I don't know how he could possibly criticize us."

Molly laughed and shook her head. "No, you can pretend all you want but I know the truth. You want to show off. You simply can't help it. Whatever assets you have you're always going to display them to others like they're the best things ever."

She leaned in and pecked his cheek. Sherlock sighed and looked down at a still squirmy Johann.

"How am I supposed to not want to show you off?" he asked.

"So you do admit you were showing off?" Molly clarified.

"Perhaps a bit," Sherlock said. "But can you blame me?"

Molly shook her head and smiled. "I suppose not. But you be nice to my brother for the rest of his stay, you understand? If you want him to feel happy about me here you be nice to him. I'm sure the rest will work itself out."

Sherlock sighed and moved to scoop Johann out of her arms. He looked down into his younger son's face and gave a smile. Johann made a sweet huffing laugh and gave a toothless grin back at him.

"How could I not want to show you off?" he muttered as he walked over to the window. "I may not know much about in-laws. But I know I'm supposed to pride myself in my children and show it."

Johann just stared up at him, as though drinking in every word. Sherlock sighed. He really did have so much to be proud of. So much more than his deductive reasoning that had once been his only true satisfaction.

* * *

"Sherlock, I'm going out with Meena. You'll watch the baby, right? He just ate lunch so I put him in his cot thinking he might want to go down for a nap for a bit," Molly said.

"Hmm, yes fine," Sherlock said. He gritted his teeth and stared at the screen, looking at the map he'd assembled of what he assumed to be some of the major parts of the web. So far, the work had been rather hopeless. He just couldn't find out enough to make this work.

"Sherlock," Molly said again. "Look me in the eye and tell me what you just agreed to."

He looked up and stared at her. "I agreed to watch the baby. I said that was fine."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, half the time you say yes without even realizing," she said. "I'll be back in a few hours." She leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Besides, it will be good practice for when I go back to work in two weeks."

Sherlock sighed. She had a point he supposed, though by now he felt he'd proved himself at being able to take care of their son when Molly was away. After all, he'd raised Alex for more than a year by himself.

He focused back on his work, staring at the map that seemed to be overwhelmed by the color red. He needed to find some new strategies. Moriarty was going to return to England…and Sherlock would still have accomplished nothing. He cursed and started his calculations again.

There was a noise in the other room. Sherlock frowned and stood. Toby was curled up in his bed along the far wall. So it wasn't him.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he called.

Nothing. No response. He listed carefully but didn't hear any further noises. He fumbled in the desk and managed to open up the safe Molly had insisted he get, pulling out the gun and keeping it close at hand as he wandered back towards the bedroom.

He pushed open the door and looked around. There were no signs someone was in the room. No open windows. No places anyone could hide. But that didn't mean he was going to stop his search.

He glanced at Johann's cot and that was when he noticed.

Empty.

The cot was empty. Sherlock stepped forward, raising the gun higher as he did, pulling the one blanket out of the way to confirm. Nothing was there.

His heart started pounding, even as he tried to tell himself to continue breathing. His eyes darted around the room, trying to figure out how anyone could possibly have gotten in and out in that time. Was this Moriarty's next game? He needed to think .He had to think. But he couldn't. His mind was racing, his thoughts incoherent. God he needed—

There was a squeal on the other side of the bed. Sherlock quickly stalked over and found Johann on the ground one hand on the bedspread as he tried to pull himself up.

Sherlock frowned, glancing from the cot and back to his son. How on earth...

There was no one else there to account for it. He glanced at the cot again, trying to ascertain how this could possibly have happened. But the proof was right there in front of him, Johann on the ground instead of where he'd been left.

"You little devil," Sherlock muttered, reaching down and scooping him up. "Is this what we get when we put you down for a nap now? You playing escape? Hmm…clever boy."

He kissed one chubby cheek and then pulled Johann close to cradle to his chest, trying his best to let his breathing steady on its own, wondering how he could possibly have allowed himself to get so worked up. He was careful to balance Johann in one arm and the gun in the other hand, moving back to the sitting room to return it to its safe.

Once at the desk with the gun carefully tucked back away, he sat down and held Johann up to eye level. The boy smiled at him and reached out a hand to touch his nose. Sherlock grimaced but put up with it. After all, the boy needed to learn to use his senses, and touch was certainly one of those.

"So, what are we going to tell mummy when she gets back?" Sherlock asked. "That you're a little escape artist? That you're a clever boy? You've only just started getting on your feet and already you've managed to get out of your cot. Molly was right, you are going to be trouble aren't you?"

Those familiar brown eyes twinkled at him. He sighed and stared a little longer, admiring the pigment that had changed the gray to the warm welcoming eyes he'd come to enjoy seeing every morning when he woke up. It was confirmation that there was Molly in this little boy. That he'd hopefully not be a sociopath…even if he might be a bit troublesome.

The thin white line as always caught his eye. Molly insisted they wait until he was older to even consider covering it up with surgery. Sherlock looked at it and considered. His motivation. He had to continue. If only to not have to panic when he came into a room to find Johann's cot empty.

"You want to stay and help daddy work? Want to help me catch criminals?"

Johann made a cooing noise that Sherlock took for assent.

"All right, now help me look at the map and we'll see if we can find a good solution to this. The web is pretty far reaching, and I've been creating this to see where all the connections are…the problem is I don't know if I'm missing anything and cutting the wrong people out first could bring the whole force down on me."

He slipped Johann into his lap and turned back to the laptop, ruffling one hand through the downy hair atop the baby's head before turning back to his work.

* * *

A few weeks later Sherlock was particularly frustrated. Lestrade had called about a case, and he'd gotten his hopes up. Hoped it might be like old times again. A distraction from the stress of all he'd been working on. But instead the case had been idiotically simple. A few seconds at the crime scene and he'd figured it out.

He kept grinding his teeth, as he stared at the television, not even sure what he was watching for other than for a bit of a distraction. Molly was busy setting the table for supper. On any other day he might have offered to lend a hand, but tonight he just didn't have the energy. Besides, he didn't really feel like eating. Not with how much he needed to think. His fingers ghosted over the nicotine patch hidden under his shirt sleeve.

His mind turned over the problems of the case. Everything just seemed more and more impossible the longer he worked at it.

A yell interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock glanced behind him at Molly who looked equally startled.

"Alex," he whispered. God not again.

He was to his feet in a matter of seconds. He didn't even stop to think as he bolted to the stairs. He leapt over the baby gate at the bottom and continued racing up, taking two steps at a time. He could feel the same fear he'd felt a thousand times over. Barely even processing he slammed the door open and found Alex sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing?" he panted. "What's wrong? Where is he? What…"

Black suddenly encroached on his vision. He strained to breathe, to process. _Idiot_ , _you can't think when you're in a state of panic._ But for whatever reason, it was impossible to calm himself down. Nothing was working.

"Stupid game," Alex muttered staring down at his phone. "I got a game over."

Sherlock did his best to try to understand the words that were being spoken to him, even as they didn't seem to make sense to his brain.

"Game? What do you mean? What…"

"I just lost the game," Alex said, pouting. "It's really stupid anyways I guess."

"Are you an idiot?" Sherlock snarled. "You don't behave that way! You just don't. I thought…" He broke off unwilling to say what he'd thought. No it was unthinkable. He clenched his fists and tried to breathe, even though his lungs continued to feel like they were shrinking in terms of capacity.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked around to see Molly standing there.

"Sherlock, calm down. It was just Alex getting frustrated. You need to relax," she whispered. Glancing between him and the boy that now had a few tears dribbling down his cheek.

"Relax?" he snapped, reeling back to glare at Alex. "You don't scream over a ridiculous game, do you understand?" He stalked over and grabbed the phone out of his hands. "You won't have this for a week for your behavior. That's _unacceptable_."

Molly's jaw clenched and she stepped forward. "He got upset. It happens. You're being unreasonable. We'll take it away for tonight and give it back tomorrow."

Sherlock shook his head, still trying to get ahold of his body that seemed to suddenly be going haywire. He felt sick.

"No, that's not good enough he can't be screaming up here over something so silly."

Molly grabbed his arm. "We will talk about this downstairs. Come on. Downstairs, now!" She glanced back at Alex once. "Dinner will be late. You stay up here until we call you."

She closed the door and pulled him down the stairs.

"Breathe," she said softly. "Just breathe please. And go sit on the sofa while I get you some tea."

"I don't need any tea," he snapped.

"Yes you do, now go sit down and focus on breathing. I'll be back in a moment."

She went into the kitchen and he could see her in the doorway taking things off the stove. He did as she'd asked and focused on taking deeper breaths. It did actually help some. His head began to clear. It became easier to think again.

When Molly returned he was feeling more normal. He accepted the tea she offered, lifting it up to sip on it only to grimace.

"What is this?"

"Chamomile," she said. "Soothing. You need to relax. I'm surprised Mrs. Hudson hasn't rushed up here to see what all the fuss is about."

"She's off with Mrs. Turner," Sherlock muttered.

"Ah, yes well. Still…you were quite loud," Molly commented. She sat on the coffee table and peered at him. "This seems to be happening more and more often. I've ignored it for a while because I thought you'd start to get over it with more time…but you've only gotten worse."

"Gotten worse? I'm fine," Sherlock muttered, waving a hand dismissively.

"No," Molly said with a shake of her head. "You're not. You're…jumpy…the slightest noise in the apartment sets you off. Your sleep has been awful. You've lost weight. This is the third time this week you've lost your temper with Alex. And you even made him cry this time…I've…I've tried to be nice about it, I really have. But it can't go on any longer."

"So what are you saying?" Sherlock asked. "You just want me to forget that Moriarty is out to destroy our lives?"

She shook her head and sighed, taking his hand that wasn't holding the tea and clasping it in her own.

"You're not okay," Molly said. "You need help. I need you to see a therapist."

His jaw practically dropped open, but he stopped it after a second. "What? That's ridiculous. I'm not crazy." He pursed his lips. "And besides, therapists are absolutely useless."

"That's not what you told Alex," Molly said. "I know the one you saw as a boy was not very helpful, but there are decent ones here in London and they could offer you the help you need. Help you start working on feeling less…afraid."

"Afraid? I'm not afraid," Sherlock snapped. "I just…it was nothing. I'm fine."

"You're not," Molly said. "As I've said, I thought this would work itself out but it's not happening. And I can't do this anymore. I can't have you getting so irritable with me and with Alex and I don't want you to start on Johann when he starts to be able to understand what you're saying. And I can't deal with you flying into a panic every few days. I can't do it, Sherlock. And I won't."

"What are you saying?" Sherlock peered into her eyes, trying to discern the meaning behind her words. She was speaking nonsense.

"I'm saying if you don't go see a therapist I'll move out," Molly said with a sigh. She looked up at him and he caught tears in her eyes. "I want to stay with you, Sherlock. I love you. I love you so much. But I can't live this way. I've put up with it for months now and I can't do it."

"What about our son?" Sherlock said.

"I'd take him with me," she said. "And if you fight me I'd take you to court. You know who they'd award custody to."

"I'd get Mycroft to pull strings if I had to," Sherlock said.

Molly let out a humorless laugh. "Oh god, Sherlock, can't you see he's on my side on this? I know you keep deleting his texts, but he's worried about you too."

"You've been talking with him," Sherlock realized.

"He swings by Bart's sometimes, yes," Molly said. "And for the record, no I didn't take the money he offered me to spy on you. Not this time or the few times before that. But he'd side with me in custody. He knows you need help as much as I do."

"I don't need a shrink," Sherlock said. "I just need to end Moriarty and everything will be fine."

"You've said yourself it could take years," Molly said. "It already has." She sighed again and wiped a hand across her cheek, brushing a few tears aside. "I'm not talking about this anymore. I've stated my case. You get help or you lose me and Johann. Those are your choices. I'm not asking much. Three visits and we talk about how it's going. From there maybe once or twice a month at most. That's all I want. It just depends if you're willing to give it or not, Sherlock."

She stood and stalked off to the bathroom. The door slammed shut and he heard muffled crying. He'd seen the signs of course, but he'd ignored them. Seen how stretched and tired Molly was becoming. Balancing work and a baby and her social life and now him of course too.

He closed his eyes and reached a hand up to rub at his temple. He'd worked too hard to keep this little family together. He couldn't lose it now. None of the options really appealed to him, but he knew there was a lesser of two evils. Sherlock sighed, but resigned himself to what he had to do.

* * *

His fingers twitched where they were resting on his knees. He kept letting his fingers move in rhythm with violin pieces that were familiar to him. Anything to distract himself from the situation he was in.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He looked up to see a man in spectacles standing in the doorway. Sherlock stood up and went to the door. He was escorted into a small office space with a few chairs and a couch. He took one of the chairs.

"Welcome, I'm Allen," the man said.

"Sherlock Holmes," he muttered before biting out a slightly sarcastic, "charmed."

"May I call you Sherlock?" the man asked. "I like being on a first name basis. If that's all right with you, of course."

"Last names suit me better actually," Sherlock said, thinking back to the last office he'd been in with a man calling him Sherlock and telling him that his mummy and daddy were concerned about him again. No, better to not call back old memories of therapy. Start fresh.

"So, Mr. Holmes," the man said with a warm smile as he took a seat across from the detective. He adjusted his spectacles and peered at the forms Sherlock had just finished filling out. "What brings you here?"

Sherlock glanced up at the man in front of him, doing his best to not blurt out the obvious facts as he saw them. American. Never married. Short term relationships only. A cat and a dog owner. Nerdy forum user. All quite obvious. But all things he'd be better off not saying. He had to do at least three of these for Molly. And so avoiding being called a psychopath up front was probably a good idea.

"My partner," Sherlock said.

"Ah. Relationship trouble? I don't usually do couples therapy but I could recommend someone if it would be easier to bring him…or her in." He corrected, probably on seeing Sherlock's scowl at the assumption. It was the one problem with the word partner. A bit misleading he supposed.

"No, she…she asked me to get help. She seems to believe I'm…having trouble," he muttered.

"And are you? Having trouble that is?" the man asked.

"Some," he said.

"With what?"

"I wrote everything down on the forms as I was told to," Sherlock muttered. "Why not consult those instead of badgering me?"

Allen smiled. "I'd rather hear it from you."

"It hardly matters. I've apparently just been…irritable lately. And…paranoid. At least that's what she thinks. I would disagree."

He nodded to that. "Well, why don't we just talk about what's bothering you. Try to get down to the bottom of what's causing all this."

Sherlock frowned. "A murderer is after me. And before you jump in trying to diagnose me with a delusion I assure you that you can contact Scotland Yard and they'll inform you it's quite true."

The man scribbled something down. "I believe you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing full well the man had just made a note to himself to check.

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me questions about it?" Sherlock asked.

"I could, but I'd rather just let you talk," Allen said. "That's largely what I like to do for my sessions. Just try to talk. I find it seems to bring some of the best understanding of what's going on. Gets to the heart of the issues if you will."

"A little more than nine months ago a murderous criminal broke into my flat and nearly murdered my newborn son," Sherlock said. "Instead, he decided to cut his face leaving a permanent scar. Since then I've been a bit…jumpy as my partner says."

"That seems understandable," Allen said. "Do you find when you're…jumpy… you think back to those particular moments? You find yourself remembering that original scare?"

Sherlock swallowed. "Sometimes. I experience flashbacks I suppose if that's what you're trying to get at."

Allen nodded and scribbled something. "Go on. Tell me more."

"I don't know what more there is to say," Sherlock said. "Sometimes when there's a noise…I start thinking maybe he's back. Or if my son starts crying…"

"You have triggers," Allen suggested.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

Allen looked at him, probably waiting for him to go on. Sherlock was unsure what he really wanted him to say so he remained quiet.

"How do those triggers make you feel?" Allen asked.

"I feel…afraid," Sherlock said. "And I feel angry."

"Angry?" Allen asked.

"Yes. Anger. It's an emotion," Sherlock said.

"I was looking for clarification on your anger. Could you expand on it?"

"I feel angry with…with myself for being afraid," Shelrock said.

"And why is that?"

"Because fear is illogical," Sherlock said. "There's no reason—"

"Mr. Holmes, correct me if I'm wrong but didn't you study chemistry?" Allen asked, moving to push his glasses up a little more as he stared at Sherlock.

"How do you know that?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the man more cautiously now.

"Took a bit myself in college," the man said. "Wrote a few papers…read some of your stuff for one of them. Quite interesting actually. And they still use it today from what I know. So…as a chemist you should know something about epinephrine? Or am I wrong?"

"No," Sherlock said. "You're not wrong. Also known as adrenaline."

"Your body releases that in response to stress. Do you fault your body for doing what it normally should?" Allen asked, cocking his head.

"I'm normally able to block out my emotions," Sherlock said. "I'm normally able to _think_ not respond in panic and…feelings. I…" he sighed and glanced over again. "This is where you tell me I'm a psychopath and you can't treat me I suppose."

Allen laughed at that. "We don't even use the term psychopath anymore, at least in terms of diagnosis. An antisocial personality disorder maybe. But from what I've seen from you I wouldn't call you one so far, Mr. Holmes. Maybe you're afraid of your emotions. But you do seem to have some. After all, why are you here, Mr. Holmes?"

"Because my partner asked me to come," he said.

"And do you always do everything your partner tells you to?"

Sherlock thought about the nicotine patch on his arm that Molly would disapprove of. "No."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because she threatened to leave me if I didn't come," Sherlock said.

"And you clearly don't want that to happen. Why?" Allen asked.

"Because…I care about her," Sherlock said.

Allen smiled. "There, not a psychopath. They don't truly care about anyone. Use people to their own advantage, yes. But what you're saying…no. Not their type of behavior. From what I've read of you I'm also aware you work with the police. Most psychopaths have a disregard for the law…you don't appear to at least in major respects. So no, Mr. Holmes, I'm not going to tell you you're a psychopath if that's what makes you so afraid of seeing a therapist."

"I still think this is pointless," Sherlock said. "I'm not insane."

"No," Allen said. "Most people who see me aren't. Most people just need help with their problems.

Sherlock sighed. "Help? I'm probably the smartest man in Britain excluding my brother. And even with him I sometimes might be able to claim I'm smarter than him. I don't need help."

"Even smart people need help sometimes," Allen said. "Or are you trying to tell me there have never been points in your life when you've needed help before?"

Sherlock almost opened his mouth to retort that it was exactly what he meant when he thought of Molly suddenly. He thought about going to her when Moriarty had cornered him last time and asking for help faking his death. Or getting Mycroft to help him with his work destroying Moriarty's ring. Or the countless cases he'd worked with John where some insight from the man had managed to make all the difference… Or even in the last few years when he realized he needed Molly to help him keep everything all together.

"No, I've needed help before," he managed to admit.

"Then this is no different than that," Allen said. "Our sessions can be like this. Casual conversation. Occasionally I'll ask a few questions. But mostly it will just be a chance for you to talk and see if we can figure out how to make things better if at all possible. If nothing else it will be a chance to take a load off. Everyone needs that sometimes. No man is an island. We all have troubles we can't solve by ourselves."

Sherlock paused for a minute and thought about that. We all have troubles we can't solve by ourselves…it was true. Especially with everything happening now. Mycroft and Lestrade had both been trying to help, but neither had been altogether useful. So where did that leave him? A thought struck, and he grabbed ahold of it. Help hmm? He'd get help.

"I suppose we do," he said and smiled for the first time in a long while.

* * *

 

"I can do that myself," Alex protested as Molly packed up his bag.

"I know you can, but I thought I'd help," she said. "Want you saving your energy for the big game this afternoon."

Alex smiled at that and glanced at Sherlock. "Why's he not coming again?"

"He said he had work," Molly said. "I don't know what exactly, but we'll just let him have the time. Plus, that way I can watch you and not be distracted with Johann."

"Yeah guess so." Alex glanced at him with a pout but didn't say anything. Sherlock just watched the window, eyeing the cab that had pulled up. He glanced back at Molly and Alex. He had thought this would come later, but apparently he'd been wrong. Of course the time had to be changed last minute.

"Why don't you two go get some ice cream before the game," Sherlock suggested.

"We do that _after_ ," Alex said. "As a treat. If I have something to eat before the game I'll get cramps."

Molly eyed Sherlock, but said nothing.

He sighed and turned back just in time to see the figure disappear into the doorway of Baker street. Well, disaster was upon them.

Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs, "Sherlock, you have a visitor."

Sherlock sighed. "Go ahead and let the visitor come up, Mrs. Hudson."

Molly's brow furrowed. "Are you expecting someone? Client?"

"I'm afraid I'm the client," Sherlock said. "I've hired someone's services to help me with the Moriarty case."

Alex stared at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Now go play in your room or something. And Molly," he looked at her and was met with an even more puzzled look, "why don't you go finish up that book you were reading in the bedroom."

"I'm not going anywhere," Molly said. "Until you explain what's going on."

"And neither am I," Alex said, folding his arms.

Sherlock sighed, he didn't' have time for this. Of course, as he was about to speak and urge them to both leave again, his visitor stepped into the room.

He turned to look; only momentarily caught off guard by the blonde hair. At a glance he wouldn't have recognized her. With the dye job and her slightly different proportions beneath the fancy black skirt she was wearing, she did appear a stranger. But the piercing gray blue eyes and that knowing red smirk both were clearly recognizable.

"Hello Mr. Holmes. To what do I owe this _pleasure_?" asked Irene Adler.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the horrible stopping spot. Will try to update soon.
> 
> Yes, probably pretty unlikely a child Johann's age could get out of a crib, but I did do research and did read about parents who had kids that young escaping. Also, this is a Holmes baby we're talking about, so he's bound to be extraordinary! Anyhow, that's my blurb for anyone who's actually had kids or knows a lot about child development. I am looking up most everything I think I'll need to know, but you know…it's fanfiction and I don't really care that much about being perfectly realistic (same goes for details on psychology, chemistry, or any other subjects I don't know much about). After all, the more research I do, the longer it takes to write a chapter.
> 
> Thanks to ugh_mycroft (for several!), redtartart, renniejoy, reesiesteve, applejack0808, and Icecat62 for all of the wonderful comments! Thanks to all who've supported with kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions too. You are all awesome!


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Irene stirs up some trouble, Sherlock discusses being a father with Lestrade, and Alex begins to experience the problems that come with growing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Irene Adler is a sexy dominatrix, so please do not be surprised by her dragging up sexual topics and other inappropriate things. Anyhow, you've been warned. And after ASIB I'd hope you sort of know what you're getting anyhow.

Irene Adler stalked into their sitting room, looked around at the four people there and gave yet another sultry smile. Sherlock sighed, he’d really thought that he could avoid all this by having her come during Alex’s match, but instead he had to deal with the drama of her arriving early…in time to meet his partner and children.

The first person she apparently decided to sink her claws into was Alex though. She sauntered closer and took his chin in her hand and looked at his face.

“My aren’t you just a perfect little copy of your daddy?” she purrs. “Lovely. Just like him.” She smirked and then leaned in and bent to whisper something in his ear. Sherlock stiffened, but Irene finished before he could say anything, pulling away and leaving Alex looking utterly perplexed.

“Irene, why don’t you and I go have a chat in the kitch—”

She didn’t let him finish. She simply turned to the playpen and peered at Johann who was standing and looking out at her with a distressed expression. He’d recently started showing concern around strangers, and Sherlock had to stop himself from going over to pick him up.

“But you’re a mummy’s boy,” she said. “Your mother’s pretty colors. Even though I suspect you’re going to have those lovely cheekbones I love so much. And I do hope you have your father’s brain. It’s one of the best parts of him.”

She straightened and Sherlock readied himself for whatever was going to come when she went after Molly. This was looking to be a cat fight, especially since Molly was probably already on the defensive about the children. Not that Irene had said anything bad really…

But when he looked at Molly he was startled to find that she had turned pale and was staring at Irene with wide eyes. Did she already have some idea who this was? Of course, Sherlock wanted to immediately correct her misconceptions if she did. John had dramatized the whole affair with Irene Adler and made it sound like he’d had some sort of relationship with her. Which of course was far from true, and he knew how silly people could be about this sort of thing. Perhaps he should…

“What are you doing here?” Molly whispered.

And Sherlock sighed and readied himself to launch into an explanation, only to have Irene beat him to it.

“Sherlock asked me to come,” she said. “Said he needed help with a dear mutual friend of ours. I was more than happy to be of assistance.” Her mouth curved upwards. “But I didn’t know you were going to be here. You do make lovely babies with Sherlock, I’ll give you that. But I would have thought he’d go for something a little more…” she looked Molly up and down and simply smirked.

“I thought you were dead,” Molly said, glancing at Sherlock.

“Not quite,” she said. “You of all people should know that can be faked, Molly, darling. In fact, now that I think of it I suppose you two are maybe a bit right for each other. The two people who’ve helped me start again. I’m afraid Sherlock simply did a much better job of things.”

Sherlock frowned and glanced at Molly again. Then looked at Alex who was still staring at Irene like she was some kind of alien.

“Alex, take Johann down to Mrs. Hudson’s and stay there until Molly or I come to fetch you,” he said.

Alex frowned but did as he was asked and went to scoop up his brother and head downstairs.

“Such sweet little darlings,” Irene said as she went over to sit on the sofa. “Now, shall we get to our business or should we drag up things of the past?”

“I wanted to know what you meant about the two people faking your death,” Sherlock said. He eyed Molly again, who still looked utterly mortified.

“Are you going to tell him, Molly? Or shall I?” Irene said with a smile.

“I helped her the first time,” Molly whispered. “Christmas Eve. She…asked…sort of…I went along with it.”

Sherlock stared at her. “You…” he glanced back at Irene. “But does that mean you…”

“Someone had to state the cause of death I wanted,” Irene said. “That poor woman died of a heart attack and the face bashing was added after. I may _misbehave_ , but I’m not a killer after all. Molly helped me find and procure the body and add the damage, and then write in the proper cause of death for someone like myself. But then, you’d already know Molly’s capabilities in that area, wouldn’t you Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock thought back to Molly’s help in making him die. “Yes I suppose. But I’m guessing you were only able to do that through blackmail which means…”

“Of course,” Irene said with a smirk. “She really is delicious, isn’t she Sherlock? But it really didn’t take much. She was busy pining after some idiot who didn’t even appreciate her. And with all that sexual frustration and anger…a little revenge on him couldn’t hurt.”

Molly was turning scarlet by that point.

“You did _what_?” Sherlock said, turning to stare at her.

“You said _horrible_ things that evening,” Molly snapped. “You went on about my small breasts and made me sound like a complete idiot when I went to all that effort to look nice and buy you a lovely gift and…I was so _angry_ with you.” She sighed. “It was wrong, I know. But I didn’t want those pictures flashed around in public either. So you know, a little extra incentive of knowing I might get you back for some of that…yes Sherlock I went ahead and did it. I’m sorry. But it didn’t matter in the end anyways.”

“There now, the idiot came round, didn’t he?” Irene purred. “I’d really have thought if it was going to be anyone you’d have settled for that cute blogger of yours, but Miss Hooper really does suit you in some ways.”

“John and I weren’t a couple,” Sherlock said. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Molly and Irene had…it simply baffled him. But she was right; he had been cruel. And Irene did know how to play people to her advantage. Everything he’d done had simply added extra incentive to Molly’s decision. Honestly, he had no one to blame but himself.

“No, that’s all right,” Irene said. “Now, why don’t we get down to business. After all, we don’t have all the time in the world to chat, do we? So, why don’t you just go ahead and ask me for what you want, Sherlock.”

“You’ve been a part of Moriarty’s inner circle before,” Sherlock said. “I want you to do so again. I want you to go in and get information by whatever means necessary. I want to know the entire set up. I want to know what he’s planning next if at all possible.”

Irene sighed and crossed one of her legs, causing her skirt to ride up a little higher. “Jim won’t sleep with me again.”

Sherlock frowned, while Molly arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Yes, I’ve slept with him before. Sex is a power thing for him,” Irene said. “Likes to know he’s in control of people he feels like are a threat. For someone of my…talents and persuasion…it seemed like a good way for him to feel I was under his thumb. But I guarantee he won’t again. It’s not a need for him like most men. Not something he _likes_. It’s simply one of his many sadistic practices. But I’m sure Molly could tell you all about Jim.”

“We never slept together,” Molly said.

“Well that’s a relief,” Sherlock muttered. “Can’t have you sleeping with every psychopath or sociopath out there, can we?”

Molly slapped him and he managed to give an apology before turning his attention to Irene.

“His ring. Could you get in though? Work your way through some of his underlings at least?”

Irene smirked. “Of course I could. Just because I’m a dozen years older doesn’t mean I don’t have any talent left.” She sighed and her brow creased. “However…there is the issue of…payment?”

Sherlock pursed his lips; he’d suspected this might come. “I believe you owe me a life debt that you never repaid.”

Irene sighed. “Fine, if you must insist on being so boring. However…perhaps on top of that we could throw in a little…threesome?”

Sherlock stared at her hardly daring to look at Molly who most probably was turning red.

“If you can tell what someone likes, Miss Adler, you should be well aware that the prospect of having sex with one person generally doesn’t excite me, so why should the prospect of two be any better?”

“I could do Molly while you watch,” Irene said with a smirk. “I’d love to have her again.” Her eyes traced up Molly’s form.

“I’m going to make tea,” Molly said. “You arrange payment, Sherlock.”

He frowned, half expecting her to fuss about not wanting to do such a thing, or for her to explicitly say he wasn’t allowed to be with Irene if she requested it be just the two of them. But instead she simply disappeared into the kitchen, only to sigh and head down the stairs on realizing there was no tea left.

Irene’s smile disappeared the moment Molly was gone.

“You want information on him,” she said. “I’m not going to get it.”

“You know about it then,” Sherlock said, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes,” Irene replied. “Unlike many others I’m not oblivious to clear signs. But it’s impossible. And I’m not dealing with Jim himself. It would be a mess. I’ll infiltrate the ring for you, Sherlock. It’ll take a while though, be warned. It won’t be easy if I want to do it well…especially if I want to avoid arousing suspicions or putting myself in immediate danger.”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine. I can’t expect much more, I’m aware. After all, I know you must worry about your girlfriend back home. Wouldn’t want her to lose you.”

Irene’s gaze softened some. “You’re one to talk, Sherlock Holmes. Settled down with a partner and children. It’s a different life. I may still possess my talents and my looks and anything else that might be useful, but I have a woman waiting for me at home. And I know if I make a mistake it’s not just my life on the line like it used to be.”

Sherlock nodded, unable to really find words to express his agreement. But she was right. Things were different with Molly and Alex and Johann.

“I will do it,” Irene agreed. “But it’s going to take time. And I’m not sure you have that. You’ve had the same problem already.”

“I don’t care how long it takes to get rid of Moriarty so long as he’s destroyed in the end,’ Sherlock said.

Irene smiled. “Then we should be able to work together perfectly.”

Sherlock eyed her carefully, looking at the bracelet on her wrist in particular. “She must really be something to have caught you.”

Her smile had never been brighter. “She’s a good match.”

“And will be understanding of what you have to do?” Sherlock asked.

“She understands my need to misbehave, yes. She does quite a bit of her own actually,” Irene said. “And yours, Sherlock. She seems to suit you well. Better than I might have initially expected.”

Sherlock shrugged and nodded. “She’s…yes…it’s different than I thought it’d be…but…nice,” he finished feel a bit pathetic in his descriptions, but he wasn’t like John. He didn’t go around spouting poetry about anyone who made him feel the slightest bits of emotion. But Molly…he smiled at the mere thought of her.

Irene nodded. “Good. Well, I’m going to head back to my hotel and started my planning. I think I’ll have to return home and come back to be honest, but all will work out if we’re patient enough. I’ll be in touch.”

She stood and walked to the door. “Give Molly my regards, and my apologies for not staying for tea. In the future I’d prefer you were a bit more discreet with our meetings if you are amenable. I’m sure we can find some ideal means of communications.”

“And the issue of payment?” Sherlock asked.

She froze in the doorway and turned to glance at him. “You’re right. I owe you my life. And in return I’ll help you gain back yours. Good day, Mr. Holmes.”

She disappeared down the steps leaving Sherlock to think over his decision to involve her. In many ways it did seem like the right one.

Molly returned a few minutes later with some tea and biscuits.

“She left I see,” she said, setting the tray down on the table and glancing at Sherlock. She kept twisting a stray bit of hair with one of her fingers, and Sherlock sighed. Best to get this over with.

“Molly,” he said. “I have no qualms with your past sexual history, and I hope you realize that. I hold no old fashion notions of purity or anything else. Who you’ve been with doesn’t matter to me.”

Molly bit her lip. “I…I know I just…it’s different you know. And it was because I was angry at you partly. And a bit put off of men after the whole thing with Jim fell apart….”

“I understand,” Sherlock said.

“Did…did she agree to a different payment? I know you’re not really…interested in anything sexual with her…but…if there’s no other way I’d do it.”

Sherlock looked up at her in confusion. “No, she agreed to see this as fulfilment of a debt.” He hesitated. “Are you…interested in women…in general?”

Molly sighed. “No. Other than her and one girl I snogged in a drunken dare at uni I’ve mostly gone after men. Why? Does it bother you?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I want to ensure I’m not in the way of your true desires.”

Her gaze softened and she came over to sit by him. “Of course not. I love you, Sherlock.”

He hesitated. His brow furrowed as he tried to come up with a suitable reply. Really, there was no alternative. With a sigh he said the unthinkable.

“I love you too, Molly Hooper.”

He could see her keeping tears at bay, though her watery smile did little to ease his worries that she might fall apart emotionally.

“Oh, Sherlock,” she whispered. “You ridiculous man you. How could you ever think I’d be the slightest bit interested in her when I’ve got you?”

She leaned in to press a light kiss to his lips before simply engulfing him into a warm hug. Sherlock wrapped his own arms around her and squeezed her tight.

* * *

 

 

More than a year passed. Sherlock took the updates one at a time. He did his best to keep the discretion Irene had asked for. He kept his contact with Lestrade minimal while the operation was in place, aware that if the network became aware of information leaks they’d start looking for the source. He did see to it that a few more minor parts were taken out, but in the meantime he waited and allowed the information to continue being gathered.

But now he waltzed into Lestrade’s office with Johann’s hand in his, feeling a sense of relief as he thought about the packet he was going to be giving the detective.

Lestrade looked up from his desk when Sherlock reached the door and groaned.

“Sherlock, I’ve told you not to bring the kids round, we’ve talked about this,” he sighed.

“It’s not a crime scene,” Sherlock said, glancing at the two year old. “And he wanted to come. And Molly’s at work, so I of course was going to bring him with me.”

Lestrade grumbled about it but eventually motioned to the empty chair across from him. Sherlock sat and scooped his son up to sit on his lap.

“Eh, how old is he now anyways? Always try to ask Molly if she has pictures when I see her, but sometimes she’s got her hands in a cadaver so it’s not exactly the right time,” Lestrade said, peering closer at the boy.

“Can you tell Lestrade how old you are?” Sherlock asked his son.

Johann frowned but lifted up two fingers.

Sherlock sighed and nodded. “Two. Hard to believe. Seems like yesterday Molly was in the hospital.” He reached down and ruffled the light brown curls affectionately.

“Getting to be such a big boy,” Lestrade said with a smile. “Wow, just realized you’re going to have a teen and a toddler at the same time. That sounds like a right mess it does.”

Sherlock froze. “What?”

“Well you know, terrible twos, and then teen drama and hormones and moodiness and all that? You’re in for a little adventure, Sherlock. Not your usual one either that’s for sure.”

He frowned and considered that. He hadn’t really thought about it, but Lestrade did have a point, and even in parenting books he’d read up on the difficulties of both of those age groups.

“So, you got the packet for me then?” Lestrade said. “All the information.”

“A good amount,” Sherlock said. “My informant has asked for us to wait on the strike though, plan out a little bit more.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Lestrade said with a nod.

Johann interrupted, pointing at Lestrade’s desk and smiling.

“Dada!” he said, glancing back at his father with a grin.

Sherlock glanced in the direction of the finger, catching site of an open file with a few pictures of mangled bodies.

“Shit,” Lestrade said, quickly closing the folder. “See, reasons you shouldn’t bring him here.”

“Oh he’s seen much worse at home, I assure you,” Sherlock said. “Can you say murder, Johann?”

The boy frowned and was silent. Sherlock sighed and did his best to not look as displeased as he felt.

“Molly know about that?” Lestrade said, eyeing him with a frown as he tucked a few more folders away from the toddler’s eyes. “That you’re letting him see gruesome images?”

“No, and if you tell her I’ll know it was you,” Sherlock muttered. “So don’t you dare.”

“Yeah. Seriously, teaching him to say murder though, Sherlock? Think that will backfire on you.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted as there was a knock on the door. Lestrade sighed and beckoned Anderson in.

“Those reports you were looking for,” he said. He caught sight of Sherlock and his jaw dropped. “Hold on a moment, you’re…wait…you…”

“I had a child, yes Anderson, how observant,” Sherlock said with an eye roll. “Johann, can you say idiot?”

Johann’s mouth pursed a bit and he did finally manage to say “‘diot.” Sherlock beamed and kissed the boy on top of his head, murmuring praise.

“That’s twenty-four, good boy,” he said.

Lestrade frowned, and gave him a questioning look.

“Anderson, perhaps you’d be so kind as to go get Johann a snack from the vending machine in the break room,” Sherlock said, scooping Johann off his lap.

“What?” Anderson said.

“You heard me,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not babysitting some—”

“Death by suicide,” Sherlock muttered under his breath, causing Anderson’s eyes to widen.

“I have nothing to be guilty about. After all you’re alive and—”

“Psychological trauma,” Sherlock said with a cough.

Anderson made a face but did extend his hand to take Johann’s. The boy looked a bit reluctant but did eventually take hold of Anderson’s finger.

“‘Diot,” he said with a smile.

“You’ll pay for this, Sherlock, I swear.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Lestrade as the door closed.

“Sorry, where were we. Anyhow, the network…”

“No we were talking about you teaching your son inappropriate words,” Lestrade said with a grin.

“Shit, which you just said in front of him, is usually deemed more inappropriate than idiot or murder,” Sherlock said. He frowned and then added, “Besides, I’m trying to improve his vocabulary…he’s…turned out to be a late talker…”

Lestrade’s smile fell. “What? What’s that mean?”

“It means he should have a vocabulary of fifty to a hundred words by now if he was a normal child,” Sherlock said, swallowing as his throat seemed to tighten. “Johann has twenty-four…we’ve taken him to specialists. They insist he probably will catch up eventually…it’s just been concerning. But there’s nothing wrong with him physically and developmentally he’s hitting other milestones and he understands everything quite well…he just doesn’t seem willing to talk or use new words very often. But one of the specialists we took him too said they thought his intelligence seemed quite high—”

“So he’s got your brain without your mouth,” Lestrade said with a laugh, only to freeze when he caught Sherlock’s serious gaze. “Sorry, yeah bad timing. Er..well hopefully he’ll get better at talking soon. I really am sorry you and Molly are dealing with that. Must be difficult.”

Sherlock shrugged. “There are worse things. Far worse. If this is his only problem I’ll be quite delighted.”

“Yeah, suppose that’s true,” Lestrade said with a sigh. “So, the network.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled out the file he’d gathered, setting it in front of Lestrade for him to open and browse through.

“You’ve got a lot here,” Lestrade said. “Your informant has done quite well.”

“Yes, she has,” Sherlock said. “Er…yes…the point is if you could start putting together a plan of how to take down the major branches that would be the best way to play it. We’ll want to take them out all at once if possible, or at least in a couple of days.”

“Right,” Lestrade said, glancing up and nodding at Sherlock. “I quite agree. So you’ll just give the signal when your informant is out and safe?”

“Yes, I’ve asked for a bit more time. A little bit more information,” Sherlock said. “We want to make sure there’s no changes. And no mistakes.”

“Yeah, all right,” Lestrade said. “I’ll start putting this thing together.”

The door opened and Anderson came in with a crying Johann in his arms. Sherlock rose to his feet and snatched the boy away before Anderson could take another step.

“What did you do?” he snapped, staring from the man to Johann, quickly trying to make a scan of things and create his own deductions. “Johann, what did he do? Are you all right?”

Anderson held up his hands. “I didn’t do a thing to that brat, he simply dropped one of his biscuits on the ground and started crying.”

Sherlock sent Anderson a threatening look as he ran a hand soothingly down his son’s back. Johann was gradually calming some, which caused him to decide Anderson was not worth murdering.

“All right, why don’t you take him home, eh Sherlock?” Lestrade said. “Looks like he might need a nap.”

Johann’s head shot up and he stared at Lestrade his little red rimmed eyes wide. “No nap!”

“It’s the one sentence he knows how to say,” Sherlock muttered. “Molly insists he must have my insomnia.”

“Yeah I’ll bet,” Lestrade said with a chuckle. “All right, you go home and…you know…I’ll see you later, all right?” He looked at the two of them with a smile and added, “see enjoy your terrible twos and teens.”

Sherlock shook his head and headed to the door. Johann peered over his shoulder after Lestrade, and waved a hand.

“Bye-bye,” he said.

Sherlock smiled at that and glanced back at Lestrade who was beaming at the both of them. He pulled his little boy a little closer and walked to the door feeling very accomplished. All in a day’s work.

* * *

 

 

He rubbed his eyes as he stared at the screen. Perhaps he should have taken another night for sleep, but at the same time he hadn’t felt like it. His therapist would likely scold him when he went in for another session in a week. But Sherlock didn’t care.

Alex had come through the kitchen at some point with a friend from school, raiding it for snacks before the two snuck up to his bedroom. Sherlock simply ignored them. He had noticed Reena over more in the last few weeks, but he didn’t pay much attention to the comings and goings of Alex’s little friends.

His research was interrupted, however, when Molly came and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up at her with a grimace.

“What? I’m doing research.”

“So I see…but that…” she sighed and hissed, “you need to give Alex the talk.”

He frowned. “What? I’ll talk with him if you’d like. But what do we need to talk about?”

“ _The_ talk,” Molly said.

“I don’t understand why you’re putting emphasis on the article,” Sherlock said.

Molly sighed and glanced over at Johann who was coloring quietly at the coffee table.

“The _sex_ talk,” she whispered.

“And why does he suddenly need that talk? A few years ago you were convinced that he should think storks brought babies,” Sherlock muttered, closing his laptop to pay better attention to what she was saying.

“Yes, and that was before I walked in on him and his friend kissing,” Molly said, pursing her lips and furrowing her eyebrows. “Him and Reena. Upstairs. In his bedroom. Kissing.”

Sherlock stared at her. “And that’s our business how?”

“He’s _twelve_ , Sherlock!” Molly said with a gasp. “I mean kissing yes, but if he and her start…doing other things…you’re going to be all right with that?”

“Please tell me you’re not one of those abstinence only people, or I may have to walk out that door and not come back,” Sherlock said. “All kinds of research shows that it’s ineffective to teach children to just wait until they’re married.”

“No,” Molly said with a sigh. “I’m one of those don’t-want-our-son-having-a-baby-before-he-graduates people. I’m one of those I-don’t-want-to-be-a-grandmother-I’m-too-young-people. Which is why we need to make sure he understands the consequences…he’s just…he’s so young…”

“So what, tell him to use protection? Or the basics part A goes in part B,” Sherlock said. “Isn’t there curriculum in schools for that?”

“Yes, I believe so,” Molly said. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t give him a sense that he could always talk to us if he’s having trouble…and we really should make sure he understands how important protection is.”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine, I’ll talk with him later. Though I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

“He’ll be more comfortable with you,” Molly said. “I’m going to make some dinner. Reena’s mother is coming by in about ten minutes. And after that I want you to have a good chat with Alex.”

Sherlock blinked a few times as Molly headed back to the kitchen. That was that he supposed. Her order to go have a discussion with Alex about sex. He did his best to not allow any level of anxiety to rise. “Sex doesn’t alarm me,” he muttered under his breath. And perhaps it didn’t, but talking to a twelve year old was a whole different matter.

The next few minutes passed slowly. He tried to focus in on his younger son, thinking that might be a distraction, but all he could think about was Alex at that young age, coloring innocently at the table instead of snogging girls. He wondered then how Johann would be when he reached puberty. Alex was his father’s after all…following in his footsteps already apparently. But Johann would be more of a mystery. Such were the joys of being a parent, he supposed.

After a while he heard footsteps on the stairs. Reena’s mother went into the kitchen to say hello to Molly. He heard her call up the stairs to have Alex send down Reena. There were whispers in the stairwell, and then Reena was bounding down, grinning in a way that told Sherlock she was utterly pleased with herself.

After the mother and daughter combo disappeared down the stairs Molly peeked in and cleared her throat. Sherlock sighed and reached out to ruffle Johann’s hair.

“Never grow up like Alex, promise me?” he said.

Johann looked up at him with a puzzled expression. “No ‘lec?”

“Exactly,” Sherlock said. “Not like Alex. You stay my little boy forever, promise?”

Johann seemed to think about it for a minute, staring down at his drawing in puzzlement. After a moment he finally settled on, “No,” before he went back to viciously shading in his drawing with brown.

“We’ll work on that,” Sherlock said with a shrug. He stood and went to the stairs, taking a deep breath before heading up.

Alex was lying on his bed, staring perplexedly up at his phone. Sherlock knocked in spite of the fact that the door was cracked open. Alex looked up and nodded.

“Come in,” he said with a sigh, lowering his phone down and rolling onto his side to look at Sherlock with a glum sort of expression.

Sherlock closed the door and went over to sit on Johann’s bed.

“Your mother has asked that I have a discussion about…intercourse with you,” Sherlock said doing his best to appear more confident than he felt. “In light of your new…closeness with Reena.”

Blue eyes widened almost comically as Alex sat bolt upright.

“What?” he asked, staring at Sherlock.

“We want to ensure you’re not in need of any guidance in terms of understanding the nature of copulation,” Sherlock said. “If you are, I would be able to provide you with some basics or answer questions. Though, to be honest, I don’t know why Molly thinks you can’t just google whatever you need to know.”

Alex gaped at him. “Oh my god, no! I already know all that! I’ve known that for a while.”

“I assumed,” Sherlock said. “But Molly asked me to be sure. And to make sure you didn’t have questions. And to remind you to use protection.”

Alex squeaked and covered his face, which was rapidly turning an alarming shade of red. Sherlock frowned and studied him again.

“Alex, are you all right?”

“Sod off!” he snapped. “I don’t need this! I’m not some little kid who doesn’t know anything.”

Sherlock frowned. “Language please, Alex. Molly will have a fit if she hears that. And I am aware you are quite mature, but that doesn’t change the fact that as the juvenile and inexperienced person you are you might think it’s all right to go without protection at times. It is not. You must be careful to not end up with an unwanted pregnancy on your hands or disease.”

“Oh my god, please just stop,” Alex groaned as he flopped down on the bed again, thankfully uncovering his face at last. “Today was bad enough without you butting in!”

“And why was it bad?”

Alex lowered his head and sighed. “I just…I don’t know. I guess me and Reena are dating.”

“Reena and I. And why are you saying it like that?” Sherlock asked. “Molly said you two were kissing. I’m sure that was enjoyable, was it not? She’s quite a…pretty girl.”

He thought about her long dark hair and lovely darkened skin. There was nothing remotely displeasing about her in the traditional sense unless one was a racist. And even if Sherlock didn’t normally like using the social constructs about beauty he could recognize her attractiveness about her.

“So, what’s wrong?” Sherlock asked again.

Alex sighed. “All the guys on my football team said Reena must be my girlfriend cause we spend a lot of time together…anyhow so I told Reena the other day cause I thought she’d think it was as stupid as I did… and she said that she wanted to be my girlfriend…and so now I guess we’re like…dating or something…”

“But you don’t want to,” Sherlock said after a moment, gaining some clarity. “You don’t want Reena to be your girlfriend. You just want her as a friend.”

The boy nodded, biting his lip as he stared up at the ceiling. “I just…I’m not…I don’t know…I don’t like her that way. Like…you’re supposed to feel different about someone when you date them right?”

Sherlock considered how he felt for Molly now and shrugged. “Yes. I suppose so. It’s a different feeling than simply being friends with someone.”

“I don’t know, I guess I just also feel like I’m not ready,” Alex said. “Like she kissed me today and…you know…it just…I wasn’t ready.”

Sherlock sighed and slipped off Johann’s bed to come sit on Alex’s instead.

“I thought for a long time I might not be with anyone,” Sherlock said. “Because I didn’t feel the things most people described. And when Molly and I started our relationship I’ll admit I didn’t know if I would feel anything either. But with time I have. You’re right, Alex, maybe you’re not ready. And that’s all right. And I doubt you’ll take as long as I did to figure things out, but in the meantime I believe a good bit of honesty with Reena would be appropriate. And perhaps just ignoring your friends if they bother or pressure you in the future.”

“Aunt Harry always talks about how when dad was my age he had a new girlfriend every week,” Alex whispered.

“You are not your father, Alex,” Sherlock said, thinking back to his own assumptions about Alex. It was true, it was easy to confuse the two of them, but at the same time Alex wasn’t John. “No matter how much you look like him. No matter how much people compare you to him. You are your own unique person.”

“I wish people would compare me to you,” he said. “I wish…I wish I was really your son.”

“I know,” Sherlock said calmly, even as his heartbeat speeded up at the mere thought. “But I can’t change biology. We are what we are. All I can do is continue to care for you like I my own.”

He was silenced when Alex suddenly threw his arms around him like he would have when he was little. Sherlock had in many ways assumed Alex had outgrown hugs. But it was nice to be proven wrong for once.

He wrapped an arm tight around Alex and sighed.

“Don’t let people pressure you to be something you’re not,” he said. “Or to do things you don’t want to. Those are the main messages I think Molly and I would both have for you. Be yourself. Be careful. Be brave. If you follow those, perhaps everything will work out all right.”

“Thank you, Sherlock,” Alex murmured.

“You’re welcome,” Sherlock said. Teenagers indeed. Perhaps Lestrade had a point after all. And the boy hadn’t even reached the technical “teens” or even puberty for that matter. He squeezed a little tighter around Alex and hoped things would only get better from there on out, and not descend into some kind of hell that everyone seemed to insist was coming. But then again, Sherlock faced great dangers regularly, didn’t he? After all, what were a few hormones to the greatest detective in the world?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to applejack0808, kathryn_bjordahl_1991, renniejoy, S.Montana for comments! Thanks to all who've subscribed, bookmarked, and given kudos as well!
> 
> Ok, updates on The Parent. I'm going to be working 12 hour shifts everyday starting next week. So you might not see an update for a long time. And after those crazy 12 hour days, I'm going to also be starting a new job so life is just going to be picking up. I will continue this, but it's going to be tough.
> 
> Honestly, I feel like this work is dragging...which is hard. I know how it ends but I'm struggling some with these middle parts. But hopefully we'll get through them all right and I won't lose too many people before the end. If you have any suggestions of things you want to see in these awkward teenage years feel free to suggest (or the toddler ones for Johann).
> 
> Thanks to all who've supported me. -elsarenard


	28. Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft gives the go ahead, a vacation is planned, and Sherlock deals with not only dealing with family issues, but fear of what the Consulting Criminal will do next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay. Hope the long chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Another significant time jump. Don't you folks worry, I'm hoping to take suggestions for some extra oneshots after I've finished this story. So if you feel like you're missing some important parent moments with the boys, I'll have a way to get those in later. For now, I want to keep the plot moving. So here we are 2 years later. Alex is 14. Johann is almost 5.
> 
> I was going to have this big angsty ending...and then I just couldn't do it. After criticism last time I felt a need to edit myself. So sorry if the ending just feels a bit...off...I'm working to gather this fic up with some of the big changes that have happened. It's well on its way to the ending though!

"Dad, tell Alex he has to finish doing his hair sometime this century."

Sherlock sighed and looked up from his chair to see Johann standing with folded arms glaring in the direction of the bathroom.

"Alex, let your brother have a turn," he said firmly. He glanced down at his phone and took in the time groaning loudly. "You're both going to be late."

"It's not _my_ fault," Johann said. "I'm not a peacock who likes staring in the mirror for hours."

Sherlock sighed and reached up to rub his temple for a moment before standing to go over to the bathroom door. He had to say he missed the days when Johann had trouble talking. Now he hardly ever shut up, at least when it came to something like this.

Glancing into the bathroom, he eyed Alex who was at the sink carefully pushing more product into his already immaculate looking hair.

"You look fine," Sherlock said. "Now let your brother in."

Alex turned to stare at him, eyebrows raised. "Oh my god, Sherlock, it's only been a few minutes. I'm almost done," he said, snatching up his comb to run through one last time.

"It will be messy in another hour at least," Sherlock said. "And you have football this afternoon."

Alex grumbled something under his breath as he pushed his hair products aside and moved to the door. "Fine, I'm done. Satisfied?"

"Better. Go grab your things."

Alex shot Johann a look before heading back towards the living room. Sherlock shook his head as Johann just stood there rather than going into the vacated room.

"What, he was taking too much time," Johann said, blinking innocently up at him.

Sherlock sighed and stalked off to find Alex still at the mirror in the living room, toying with the collar on his shirt and turning from side to side. Somehow Sherlock still could not quite reconcile the fact that he'd gone from having a smiling little boy covered in dirt and dust and who knows what else, to this vain creature who spent hours in front of the mirror. He tried to remember if John had ever been like this…

God, the thought of him was almost more painful now than ever. Sherlock eyed the reflection of the boy he'd known for fourteen years now, taking in those familiar blue eyes and that distinctive nose. He could picture the usual crooked grin. And if John was here Sherlock was sure there would be no doubt that the reflection in the mirror was eerily similar.

Alex squared his shoulders, still lithe and slim, a bit less stocky than John's build. But still…from the back. For a moment. Those glimpses sent his heart aching.

"Almost finished?" Sherlock said, clearing his throat.

He caught a look in the mirror. Eyes rolling before Alex sighed and went over to pick up his bag. Johann was sliding on his coat. With any luck, they wouldn't be late.

Of course, just as he was about to turn to the door, Johann froze, eyeing the entryway to the flat. Sherlock glanced back and caught sight of a figure in the doorway.

"Is there a reason you've decided to interrupt our morning?" Sherlock said with a sigh, shooting a glare in the direction of his brother.

Alex had pulled out his phone and was busy texting, but Johann's eyes lit up and he dashed over to Mycroft without a second's pause.

"Hello Uncle," he chirped, smiling widely.

Sherlock's teeth clenched. He had no idea how this had started. Something at Christmas from the little he'd seen. But still, it was surprising to see anyone worming their way into Johann's good graces. And Mycroft being one of the few never ceased to amaze him. For Johann smiles and kindness were reserved for a few. His parents at times. For all his teasing, Alex of course earned quite a bit too. And Ella Watson was the only other one he knew of. But Mycroft…

"When does our flight leave?" Johann suddenly asked.

Sherlock's head shot up to try to quickly glean the signs. Of course, in an instant he caught sight of four passports in Mycroft's hands, and a stack of plane tickets.

"What's the meaning of this?" Sherlock said.

"It's time," Mycroft said calmly.

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, but he eyed both of the boys and nodded, even as Alex gave him a look and Johann a smile.

"Boys, go pack your things. Enough clothes for a week. And whatever else you need to distract yourselves," Sherlock said.

"Warm weather?" Johann asked.

Sherlock nodded first, followed by Mycroft.

Johann was the first to head to the stairs. Alex hesitated a moment, brow furrowed.

"Go," Sherlock said. "We don't have time to waste and I know you'll take a while gathering all your hair products."

There was an indistinguishable grumble from the teen, before he too headed for the stairs. Sherlock waited a moment until he heard the sound of footsteps overhead. He glanced at Mycroft and went to sit in his chair again.

"Sherlock, you need to pack as well," Mycroft said.

"I'm not going," Sherlock said. "I assume you're picking Molly up at Bart's? You may take her and the boys to the airport. But I will not be coming."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and walked over to stand closer to Sherlock.

"You will. I won't have you here. It's too much of a risk, brother dear. I simply can't allow it."

"I need to be here," Sherlock said. "If you're finally ridding England of his network, I will be here to see it fall into place. I've done too much work to simply fly off to hide away while you do everything."

Mycroft sighed. "Your place isn't here, Sherlock. You've made your position quite clear, and for that reason you are not obligated to stay for the process. It is best you are with your partner and children to provide an extra level of protection."

"I won't," Sherlock said, folding his arms. "They'll be safe where you send them. I'm not concerned."

"No?" Mycroft said, eyes narrowing.

There was a clatter on the stairs and then the sound of footsteps racing down. Sherlock sighed as he watched the doorway until his younger son came racing out. He was carrying a small suitcase in one hand, and a knapsack in the other. His smile brightened as he came back over to stand beside Mycroft.

"They'll be safe without you?" Mycroft said, pulling Johann closer and reaching up to trace his cheek carefully. "Are you certain about that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's jaw clenched, pain shooting through it as he put all of the tension in his body into that one small part. He stared at Mycroft for a moment, not daring to look at the scar. Molly was still upset about it. Wouldn't stop rambling about how they should have had the surgery done when Johann was little and not left him the choice. Sherlock simply kept telling her he'd never expected the boy would say no.

But that was Johann. Stubborn and passionate and utterly confusing to Sherlock in so many ways. And in many ways, perhaps Mycroft had a point. Perhaps that scar did have its uses. Sherlock eyed it and knew. Though he hated to admit it, Mycroft was right.

"What of Molly's things?" Sherlock said. "I'll gather some for her for you."

He wouldn't give up on the game just yet. Though he did indeed worry what Moriarty might do in retaliation, he still could not deny himself the thought of having his hands involved in this actual case.

"Gather your own," Mycroft said. "I'm serious, Sherlock. You're getting on that plane. If I have to use police to escort you there, I will."

He gave a very forced smile.

They were saved from further arguing as there was more noise on the stairs and Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.

"Oh, Sherlock dear, Molly just rang me and asked me to pick out her things," she said.

"I'll do that Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. "No need for you to fret."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "She'll like what I pick out for her better anyway, dear. You focus on your own packing."

"Yes, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "Or else I'll take you with nothing. Gather your computer and anything else you'd like for a week or two."

Sherlock still was doing his best to pretend that Mycroft was not in the room. But of course, before he could even get out of his chair, Mrs. Hudson shot him a glare.

"Sherlock Holmes, you let me pack for her or so help me…I'll never babysit for you again. Let you deal with that next time you want to go rush off to a crime scene or you and Molly want a little time to…to have a romp," she said with a huff.

Before he could get a word in she was heading to the bedroom. He sighed and settled back. Johann had a knowing smirk on his face, an even brighter twinkle coming into his eye as he looked back and forth between Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Go pack," Mycroft said. "Now."

Sherlock was saved from having to retort when Alex appeared on the stairs, one hand holding his suitcase, and his other arm wrapped firmly around Toby's middle. His brow furrowed as he looked at Sherlock.

"Where's Toby going to stay?" he asked, setting his suitcase to the side so he could get a better grip on the cat.

Sherlock sighed, before an idea popped into his head. He smiled and looked at his brother.

"Why your uncle will take him of course. Least he can do with all of us out of town."

"Thank you, Uncle Mycroft," Johann said with a smile Sherlock easily could see was not quite genuine. The little boy blinked up at Mycroft with such a look that Sherlock could barely restrain his own smile.

Mycroft's frown deepened, but he did nod to that.

"The boys are both ready, Sherlock. If you would please go gather your things."

"Mrs. Hudson isn't even done with Molly's things yet," Sherlock said. "And she still has her own to gather. Though why she can't just stay here…I really don't see the point in dragging all of us off."

Mycroft sighed. "The last time Moriarty tried to take revenge on you, force your hand if you will whose heads did he point guns at? John Watson, who is dead. Mrs. Hudson, who is therefore going with you on your vacation. And Greg Lestrade, who I will be keeping an extremely close eye on. This is for your own good, Sherlock. We'll handle this. You've done your job. Now let us do ours with you safely out of the way of Moriarty's potential retaliation."

Sherlock stood.

"Where are you going?" Mycroft asked. "Sherlock, please, this is serious."

He turned to shoot his brother a look. "Packing. Or wasn't that what you wanted me to do, Mycroft?"

Johann smiled at him. "Hurry. Don't want to miss our flight. Uncle Mycroft, they don't allow knives on planes, correct?"

Sherlock almost turned back at that, but Mycroft had a point. If he wanted them safe, they needed to remove themselves from Moriarty's path. And time was ticking.

* * *

Molly hugged him fiercely when she climbed into the cab.

Mycroft had taken Mrs. Hudson and the children to the airport and told Sherlock to go fetch her himself. There was an unspoken threat in Mycroft's eyes as he drove off. Promise of all kinds of nasty punishments if Sherlock did not arrive at the airport with Molly. He was prepared for that. What he wasn't ready for was Molly grabbing his hand before he could slip out of the cab.

"Please, Sherlock. No. I can't go halfway across the world and leave you here," she whispered. "You can't leave us."

"You'll be safe," he said. "Mycroft has arranged everything. You and the boys and Mrs. H will all be safe. But I have to—"

"What you have to do is keep your promise to me, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said, eyes glinting. "And you swore you wouldn't let anything happen to him. Not ever again. And I should hope the same goes for me and Alex."

"Precisely," Sherlock said. "And you'll be fine off in the safe place. In the meantime, I'll be here to deal with all of the mess of cleaning up the network myself. It's my job, Molly."

"Being a father is also your job," Molly said.

Sherlock sighed. "Molly, I…"

"No, you listen here," she said, hand still clutching his so tightly he wondered if he might lose circulation. "I may not matter to you, but those boys should. And I know well enough that they're going to be _scared_. That this whole thing will be agonizing enough as it is. And having to know their father is back in England possibly being murdered by that disgusting psychopath is… they can't do that Sherlock. And you can't do that to them. They're just boys. Please. If not for me, do it for them."

He moved back to sit beside her, even as the cabby sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Molly, you've always mattered," he said. "I…I want to help with this. I'd feel better knowing I'm here to help."

"You have helped," Molly said. "You've given them all enough information to destroy all of Moriarty's web." She gave a half-smile. "That's fantastic, Sherlock. You don't need to be here for the actual dismantling. Lestrade wouldn't let you do much anyways. Please. I won't ask again. Please."

He glanced towards the street they were standing on. If he walked two more paces he could easily hail another cab and be off to Lestrade's office in less than twenty-minutes. But those eyes staring at him…

Decisions. God. He was normally so good at them. Quick on his feet. Easily satisfied with jumping into something or with saying no. But for once in his life he was confounded. It took him back to his choice on the rooftop…perhaps the one time he'd faltered in his life. But here and now it was the same. Did he do what was best for himself. Or did he do what was best for Molly? For Alex, for Johann, for Mrs. Hudson.

A moment passed. Molly's gaze didn't leave him. She loosened her grip some, but still didn't quite let go. His eyes stared into hers, admired the deep chocolate brown he'd become quite familiar with in the last few years.

He closed the door to the cab. And sank back in his seat.

Molly stared at him for a moment, but finally smiled as he raised her hand up to his lips and gave her a soft kiss on the knuckles.

"I'll go with you," Sherlock said. "You needn't worry anymore."

"I'm not worrying," Molly said, moving closer and then snuggling lightly against him. "I never worry when you're with me, Sherlock."

He closed his eyes, his only defense against his need to retort with something bitter and angry towards her naïve comment. He simply wrapped his arm tighter around her, and let the cabbie drive them in the direction of the airport. And hoped that no matter what happened he wouldn't let her down.

* * *

A few hours later Molly's head was resting on his shoulder as they sat in their row of the airplane. He had trouble sitting still. There was nothing to do on airplanes, honestly. Just sit trapped in a small compartment with hundreds of obnoxious other people.

Alex might have the right idea, he thought. He admired the teenager yet again for managing to somehow curl all the way up in his seat, his hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head and earbuds clearly stuck in his ears. His body lolled from time to time with the small bits of motion.

Johann in the meantime had decided the flight was the best time to possibly start into some kind of whiny phase. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had insisted he could sit in her row and she would deal with it. And from the little Sherlock could see of the two of them, she was doing an admirable job at encouraging the boy to watch some movies and sip his beverage rather than focus on any particulars of the journey.

His knee bounced a little as he wished for the thousandth time he could stand up and pace without one of those obnoxious hovering flight attendants asking him to take a seat. But he had a suspicion that Molly would seriously scold him if he was told to sit down a third time.

"Settle, Sherlock," Molly whispered. "Everything will be fine."

"Oh yes, and you just know that with certainty?" Sherlock said. "That nothing will go at all wrong? I'm stranded on a flight while my brother and friends deal with the web of the most manipulative, clever, destructive, insane villain that has ever roamed this earth. You're telling me that nothing is going to go wrong when Jim Moriarty is in the mix? Because if that is the case then you really ought to know better, Molly. I thought you were more intelligent than that. And for—"

He was cut off by one of the false smiled flight attendants appearing at his row as though he'd pressed the button to call her.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem here?" she asked, red lipsticked smile in place even as her eyes spoke murder.

"No," Molly said. "Sorry. We're just…it's fine. Sorry."

She disappeared off again with a warning glare. From his seat Alex looked up at the commotion, glanced at them and then made somewhat of a harrumph before pulling his hood further down and curling back up again.

"I'm sorry," Molly said. "I shouldn't have told you not to worry. It's…I suppose you have every reason to be concerned."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "I don't particularly like feeling…helpless, Molly."

Her head returned to its place on his shoulder. She sighed and then ran a hand along his arm. After a moment he realized she wasn't going to speak again. Molly, out of words. There was a poor sign if he'd ever seen one.

He settled for closing his own eyes. Molly was right. There was nothing left to do. Perhaps a bit of naïve hope for the best really was his only solution.

* * *

No sleep came. He did his best to maintain focus as they drove up to the house. But something about having three other people asleep in the cab with him did nothing to make it any easier.

Only Johann remained awake. Curled into his side and blinking a bit sleepily, but still refusing to shut his eyes in a way that Molly would have said was clearly "like father like son."

His hand tightened on Johann's shoulder.

"Are you ready to meet her?" Johann whispered after a moment.

If he had more energy, he might have smiled. It truly was a good deduction. But in the darkness with the rest of the family asleep around him, Sherlock only felt strong enough to state his answer.

"No."

"I'd imagine that even if she hates you it won't matter to mum," Johann said. "You're more important."

"Hmm. We'll see."

"Besides, you can figure out her most annoying secrets and use those to blackmail her into being nice to you," Johann said. "Honestly I don't see how it could go wrong. And it's only a week."

" _Only_ a week," Sherlock said. "Yes, of course, how silly of me. Staying with relatives for only a week. How delightful and calming that lovely short interval will be."

His son offered a half-smile at the sarcasm.

"I'll help you if I can," he said. "Lex might be too busy playing on his phone and doing his hair. But I'll be here for you."

Sherlock nodded his thanks. His eyes were fixed on the house coming into view. Molly stirred as the car slowed to a stop. She blinked a few times and then smiled.

"We're here," she whispered. After a moment simply enjoying the arrival, she looked around to notice that Alex and Mrs. Hudson were both still asleep.

"I'll wake Mrs. Hudson," she offered. "You get Alex up, please."

Sherlock was about to point out that he'd probably wake up on his own when they started moving around, when Johann reached over and poked a finger into Alex's ear.

"What the _hell_!"

He sat bolt upright and glared at the younger boy who had started giggling uncontrollably. Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, moving to open a door to start letting them out of the van.

"Come on," he said. "You've been sleeping all day but I'd imagine a bed might be nicer for a little rest."

Alex sighed and slid out of the van, groaning and stretching before going to grab his bag, managing to knock into Johann on the way. Sherlock rolled his eyes as glares were exchanged between the boys.

However, before he could speak a word of reprimand towards either of them, the door to the house opened and a woman's figure appeared in the dim light.

"Oh thank heavens you're here! I was beginning to worry!"

There was some shuffling, and Molly grimaced first before putting on a smile. She went first to meet their host.

"Bea," Molly said. "It's good to see you. Been a few years hasn't it?"

"Too long, Molly. Too long," the other woman said, before wrapping her up in a tight hug. "The last time you were here Amber was still in elementary school."

When the two parted, Sherlock finally was able to get a decent look at Mycroft's choice of host for their family. He'd known quite quickly after spotting the tickets of course. The number of people Mycroft would think to contact in California of all places was limited. Moriarty might think of this one, but it was unlikely. And even if he did they were half-way around the world, making it a bit harder for him to actually do anything. Besides, the pretense of a visit made the disappearance from London seem less conspicuous.

But still, confirmation was given to him just in a sweep over the woman's features. That same familiar nose and those warm chocolate eyes were easily distinguished. The close sibling resemblance was only stopped when he began to get a quick sense of Beatrice's personality and how drastically different it was from Molly's.

Even though it was apparent she'd been getting ready for bed due to the silky pajamas and her dressing robe, Bea still had flawless makeup on, though not so flawless that Sherlock didn't recognize it had been freshly applied. Just a smudge on her pajama's showed she'd recently been putting it on.

But alongside the care to just the details of her face, a glance over her body showed Sherlock not only that her proportions were a bit different than Molly's—evidenced by her D to Molly's B—but that she'd played with these things a little too. Personal trainer, of course, but also a few clear signs of plastic surgery. Highlights in her hair. An expensive looking cut. Everything about her shaped up to be some type of person Sherlock would normally not give the time of day to. But for Molly's sake, he knew he needed to behave.

But, as Johann had suggested, he quickly pulled together the pieces he needed to create some blackmail if needed.

A few things were quite obvious. Beatrice's marriage was not doing altogether well. Her ring had been put on the wrong hand, though Sherlock could see the tan line that showed she normal wore it on her left. He could, of course, make out that the wedding ring, though gaudy, was certainly not expensive. It looked to have been picked up at a chain jewelry store. This, was quite contrary to the wealth suggested by the house (that had been custom built and owned longer than their marriage). So why a cheap ring? Rush job most likely. Suggesting there had been a reason.

Amber. Molly had said Amber was eighteen and had just gone off to college. So eighteen years of marriage. Well the math wasn't difficult. He knew the facts. Molly might have the idea of a fairytale romance for her sister with some Hollywood director falling madly in love with the extra on set. But Sherlock could easily see the signs. Director sleeps with extra. Extra demands more time on camera in exchange for the sex. Extra began to get more press, and when she became pregnant the two went for marriage rather than scandal. And now the effects of the shot-gun wedding were showing on their relationship.

Still, with all that information stored away in case it was needed, Sherlock did his best to smile. By the look on Molly's face it was clearly not very sincere, but he had no motivation to try harder. A week here and then they'd be back in England and likely never have to see her again.

"Lovely to meet you," Sherlock said.

"Oh you must be Sherlock," she said. "Molly hasn't said much about you, but it's good we finally get to meet."

He glanced at Molly, curious as to why she hadn't said much. Molly's brother hadn't given any indication either way as to whether he'd heard much about Sherlock beforehand.

"Oh and your son and the adopted one," Beatrice said.

Sherlock stiffened at her words. While he recognized the difficulties in pulling their odd little family together into one group, the reminder was still not appreciated. His only relief was in seeing that Alex had shoved his earbuds back in and was zoning out staring towards the house.

"Johann," Molly said, "meet your Aunt Bea."

"Nice to meet you," Johann said, though he made no movement to go shake her hand or anything else. "And the idiot ignoring us is my brother, Alex."

Sherlock moved to put a hand on Johann's shoulder, glad to hear his son using such a title. They'd explained to Johann just that year that Alex was adopted. That Alex's parents had been some of Moriarty's early victims and that some people might make a point of it, but that to them family was far more than blood. And of course, looking at Mrs. Hudson Sherlock only confirmed it for himself. Family. His lovely partner Molly, no marriage necessary for their bond. His sons, one by blood, one by legal certification. Dear Mrs. Hudson who was probably more motherly to him than his own biological maternal figure.

"And this is Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said. "Our landlady and dear friend who we decided could use a little vacation and came with us."

"Nice to meet you," Bea said, even though her smile didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh, thank you dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "You have a lovely home."

"Well, come in," Bea said. "I'll show you to your rooms. You must all be tired."

* * *

A few minutes later, Sherlock and Molly were tucked away in a guest room that continued to show off Molly's sisters wealth. Sherlock sighed as he glanced around the room that was almost as large as the living room in their flat, complete with a king sized bed and a sofa and television.

"Nice to see your sister again?" Sherlock asked, eyeing Molly as he pulled his laptop from his bag and booted it up.

Molly gave a noncommittal shrug, busy slipping into her pajama shirt.

"It's fine," Molly said.

"You have enough money to visit her often," Sherlock said. "Why don't you?"

There was a shrug and then a sigh. "You're not the only one who doesn't get on with a sibling, Sherlock. I thought you'd have figured that one out by now."

"I suspected," Sherlock said. "But I thought you'd rather confirm it for me than have me assume."

Molly turned around as she continued buttoning up the shirt. "Bea's always been…different. Had different priorities. She never understood how hard it was on dad and me trying to deal with mum dying. Always begged me for more money for clothes and makeup and god knows what else. Sometimes she'd just steal it when I'd say no. And then when she turned sixteen there was a note in her bedroom that said she'd gone off to America to become a movie star. I can only guess how she managed to get the plane ticket."

She sighed. "I worked hard to make sure everything went well for the family. I took the first job I could when I was thirteen helping wash dishes at a local restaurant. I worked and went to school and made sure my dad was ok. Tried to get Robbie help for his OCD. Tried to put food on the table and still save some for me and for school. I sometimes thought I'd never get where I wanted to be. That I wouldn't be able to be a pathologist or anything. But I scrabbled and scraped and saved. Got through school. Did my residencies and everything, all while sending money and support home when I could. And in the meantime Bea just goes and…marries some rich director and makes it big?"

Sherlock sighed and moved over to sit on the bed near where she was standing.

"That must have been difficult for you."

Molly closed her eyes. "Yes. And I still haven't forgiven her for any of it. I don't know if I ever will."

"You're the most forgiving person I know," Sherlock said. "But there are limits to how much someone can simply let go of. You're completely normal in resenting her when you've worked so hard and she's done so little."

She was silent as she settled onto the bed next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I love you so much, Sherlock."

Tucked in next to her later that evening, he used the sound of her breathing to ground himself. He listened to the steady rhythm, pulled it into himself as his own heartbeat sped up at the thought of what was happening back at England.

At three thirty in the morning, his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the text, the small illuminated screen making the words so much clearer in the dark. He was relieved to see the codes he'd been hoping for.

_34 begins. No sign of Schechem.-MH_

He raised a brow, but he was glad to see things were going through.

_Text me at 35.-SH_

After a moment he set the phone back on the nightstand, settling back against his pillow. Sleep still wouldn't come, but he leaned closer to Molly and reached out to smooth a hand down her side in reassurance that she was there. And safe.

* * *

The next day, Sherlock kept an eye on the news. Reports were everywhere on the massive amounts of arrests in London. Most of the coverage chalked it up to the new prime minister's promise to crack down on crime. But anyone with reasonable intelligence would know this was something bigger. The sheer number of police involved spoke to what this operation was.

Mycroft shot a few more texts his way, but Sherlock could tell by his curtness that he was clearly busy. Unharmed, but busy. Good signs.

For the majority of the time, he was able to pretend. Lock away his emotions and put on a mask to be polite in front of Molly's sister and brother-in-law. He did his best to act like nothing was wrong. Like they were simply visiting the family on vacation.

Molly went shopping with her sister leaving him some time to focus on his work. Making sure he was sure there weren't any piece they'd missed, checking through records again. Johann mostly stuck with him, while Alex slept off the rest of the jetlag and worked on some homework.

It wasn't until that night that Sherlock began to have a feeling something might be wrong. It had been too calm. Too simple. And if there was anything he'd learned about Moriarty over the last few years, it was that he was anything but.

They tried to pretend it was a normal vacation. Alex would spend a few hours tanning on the beach, even though Sherlock would grumble at him about cancer and all the risks of what he might be doing to his normally pale skin. And at one point Molly's brother in law offered to show him how to surf, and after that he hardly ever left the water. Johann had Molly forcing sunblock on his face before he went to wander to the seaside, looking for different sea creatures and cataloging them with some minor spelling errors in a notebook and then adding a few wobbly sketches. Mrs. Hudson often went with him, though she had to rest more due to her hip, and often took to sitting on the shore with some knitting.

Molly was clearly hanging on to her wits by a thread dealing with her sister. It somehow made Sherlock more at ease with the whole situation, not entirely sure it would matter if he disappointed or embarrassed Molly all things considered. And besides, it gave him something to hold against her the next time she criticized him for how he was treating Mycroft.

And time passed. They continued pretending. Sherlock allowed himself to absorb the fantasy for once that they were like any other family. Not a sociopath raising his best friend's orphaned child. Not a retired exotic dancer who'd run a drug cartel. Not a pathologist who had dated a psychopath out to kill their entire family. Not a little boy who was turning out to have far too much of his father's potentially disastrous personality… no. For a few days they could just five people on a beach.

But it was late on the sixth night there that the moment Sherlock had been waiting for came.

It started with a knock on the door. He sighed and rolled over in time to see Johann's face peering in.

"What is it?" he asked, with a sigh. It was rare for their younger son to disturb them. He wasn't like Alex at that age, who'd often had nightmares or wanted glasses of water or other silly things. Johann slept poorly, but he generally kept those facts to himself.

"You should come see," Johann whispered. "On the telly. I couldn't sleep so I was watching the news."

He sat up and grabbed for the remote, flicking the television on the far wall on. He asked for the channel and flipped to a news network.

A reporter was talking, but what caught his attention first was the image to the side. His name in flaming letters, large burning letters. And to make matters even worse, they were right below the Hollywood sign. Less than a hundred kilometers away by his estimations.

"As you can see the act of vandalism has some people very concerned," the reporter said. "From what we've heard fire crews have mostly extinguished the burning, and there doesn't appear to be any damage to the actual sign. But people are still wondering what this was about."

The second news anchor spoke up. "For those of you who don't remember, Sherlock Holmes is a famous detective from London. He was most well-known thanks to a blog run by his partner, though many might remember the scandal almost sixteen years back when he became involved in the Moriarty case and was declared to be a fraud resulting in a subsequent suicide on the roof of a local hospital. The suicide was proved to be faked two years later after his name was cleared, as he returned to London to once again take up solving crimes."

"What most people are wondering is if this is in connection with the major crime sweep in London," the first anchor said. "As of right now we've had no confirmation on the issue. Many have speculated that Mr. Holmes might have been behind the recent clean up, but there has been no proof on the issue. Still others are wondering if this is merely a crazed fan, or if this is a sign that further crime is coming. We will return with details as soon as we know them."

But Sherlock of course knew details were meaningless. He knew who had done this. And he knew what this meant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work with children for a living, so please please don't get onto me about Johann not acting like a typical 4-5 year old. He's a Holmes child after all. And he's got Molly's smarts as well.
> 
> All right, thanks to Herstory_Angel, reesiesteve, renniejoy, Icecat62, and applejack0808 for commenting!


	29. Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moriarty lashes out, Sherlock makes a new discovery about his family, and Alex asks for something unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for being gone so long. I started a new job, had a really bad period of depression where I couldn’t write, and have been hoping I could finish up one of my other WIP’s so I can focus more of my attention on this fic (but it took longer than I thought). Anyhow, hoping to be back on this fic in more regularity from now on. I really do want to finish this one off. Thank you all for your patience. Sad to see some of you have left due to the wait, so thanks to any who stuck around.
> 
> This is likely to be a controversial chapter. Please don’t flame me. I’m open to suggestions, but not blatant attacks. If you’re not enjoying the story please leave.
> 
> Warnings: Character death.

The call came while they were driving.

Mycroft’s people had pulled up a few minutes after Sherlock had made the call. Molly made hurried excuses and said goodbyes to her sister while he and the boys entered the van outside. Mrs. H. was in a state, but Sherlock had no words to comfort her. Everything in him was thrumming with anxiety. Anything could happen now.

Johann had buried himself into Alex’s arms. It was one of those terrible signs for Sherlock. He glanced again at the older boy, Alex’s face ashen even as he ran a hand through Johann’s hair. Molly too was gripping him tightly. He had no words to offer them. Especially not when his phone rang.

The man up front motioned to him, and with a deep breath he pulled the phone up to answer it.

There was a tisking sound on the other end. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. You never learn do you?"

He closed his eyes. "Learn what? That you enjoy causing destruction wherever you can?"

Molly was staring at him, eyes flicking between the boys and Sherlock. He tried not to lose himself in her gaze. It was a temptation he couldn't give in to at the moment. He had to face Moriarty himself.

"That I can do whatever I like to you," Moriarty purred. "And you can't do a thing about it."

"Your ring is gone," Sherlock said. “You have no supporters left.”

"I don't nee-eed them." He chuckled a bit. "Why don't you go ahead and look out your window."

He froze as he scrambled to gather his wits about him. Bluff? Or reality? Either could set him in the path of danger. Sherlock clenched a fist wishing desperately that he'd found a way to bring some kind of a weapon with him.

"Nowhere is too far for me to reach, Sherlock." Sherlock could picture the crazed grin on his face. "Even off on vacation. To be honest, it was a hard choice for me. Come after you….or create a little destruction back in London? Figured maybe it would be a fun time to get rid of your darling Greg. Or maybe that your brother would be a good next target…but really I'm not ready to go back to London yet…"

Sherlock closed his eyes, doing his best to practice the breathing techniques his counselor had taught him. In, out. Counting off as he did so. In, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. Out.

"Why don't you look outside your window, Sherlock?"

He did after a moment. Nothing. Just the night roadway. But he knew, there was every possibility the man could turn up.

"Don't ever try to run from me," Moriarty hissed. "It was quite foolish of you. Daddy's quite angry.”

“You have nothing,” Sherlock said. “No power. In time we’ll have you too. And then it will be over.”

He made a noise of discontent over the phone. “Oh Sherlock, still so unaware. The game’s still in play. And I’m still playing. I’m afraid you’ve been very naughty…you need to be punished.”

Sherlock frowned. There was something in those words.

“Would you like that, Mr. Holmes? I could make you beg. Won’t you beg for me?”

There was a scream from the phone and he jerked in his seat. No, it wasn’t possible. But it was undeniable in a matter of moments.

“Please, Sherlock,” her voice rang out. “Don’t…”

“What do you say, Sherlock? Will you beg for me?” Moriarty purred.

He closed his eyes.

Irene’s gasps were shallow, but she managed to speak. “Don’t, Sherlock. It’s not worth it.”

Of course. So that was how it was to be played.

“Please,” he said after a long moment. “I’m begging you. Don’t hurt her.”

Moriarty laughed. “God, those words over this scheming lying little bitch? I can’t even imagine what I could get you to say for dear Molly. Shall we try this with her next time? See how prettily you’ll beg with my knife against her throat?”

“Please,” Sherlock said again. “You don’t need to hurt her.”

Irene screamed and then there was silence for a moment. Moriarty’s laugh was the only thing he heard.

“Too late.” There was a long pause and Sherlock found he was holding his breath, everything in him clenched in anticipation. “Remember this next time, Sherlock. Call your little police friends and tell them they can start looking for her body.”

There was a click and the call was over.

“What was that?” Molly whispered.

Sherlock had to look down at his hands to confirm they weren’t shaking.

“Nothing. We go to the safe house like Mycroft will have planned. Things will be fine from there.”

“And how long will we be there?” Alex whispered, eyes flicking between his two parents and then back down to Johann.

“As long as necessary,” Sherlock answered, glancing out into the darkness. Still nothing in his sights, but he was all too aware of the danger, and he’d do what it took to let it pass.

* * *

 

A week. Sherlock cursed Mycroft a thousand times over as they finally walked back into Baker street. A week in a cabin in the northwest hiding in solitude. A week with five people clustered up together in fear. A week with no internet and nothing to do other than feed off each other’s misery. Even Mrs. Hudson had grown entirely bad tempered in the time.

He heard the door below slam shut and let out a sigh, hoping he didn’t have to see his landlady for a few days at the very least. Molly urged the boys to go unpack and get cleaned up for bed before she ushered Sherlock into their room and closed the door.

“You need to relax,” she whispered, moving him to the bed. He sat without any resistance, all too ready to give in at this point.

She moved behind him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders and then beginning to knead.

“Did Mycroft say anything about Irene?” Molly asked quietly.

Sherlock swallowed before managing to nod. Yes, it had been confirmed. The body found a few days ago. His only comfort was finding out she’d died quickly. But still, for all her help it was a poor reward. He should have been more cautious.

“We’re back,” Molly said after a moment. “You ought to be glad of that at least. Can breathe in the London air again.” He could sense her smile even though he couldn’t see it.

“Things will never be normal,” Sherlock murmured. “He’s determined. He’ll destroy everything we love before it’s over.”

Molly sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. She didn’t move for a long while. Sherlock even began to suspect she might have fallen asleep before she spoke again.

“We must have faith,” she said. “It’s all there is now.”

“I don’t care for _faith_ ,” Sherlock said. “I trust reason. And reason says…it says this is hopeless.”

She squirmed around slightly, leaning more weight on him. He didn’t find he particularly minded,

“Then let me be your faith,” she whispered. “I’ll have enough for both of us. Everything will work out, Sherlock. We’ll make it. I know you don’t believe in that sort of thing, but I believe that good will win out.”

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Then I’ll leave such things to you,” he said. “And I’ll work on this myself. If there’s any solution to this problem I’ll find it.”

Her hand slid into his grasping it tightly. He squeezed back, wondering how he’d ever gotten on in life without someone here. It was easier in so many ways. The comfort and reassurance she provided…he could never have enough of that.

“Things will be normal someday,” she promised again. “Just us and the boys, as it should be. And we’ll live like any other family would, and it will be just perfect. Just you wait and see.”

* * *

 

 

“So how was your date?” Johann asked as Alex came in the doorway.

Sherlock’s head snapped up and he turned to examine Alex. Date? A quick scan showed no evidence of that, though he could certainly see a much more impressive smile than usually. Other than that there was only the slightly rumpled hair, though it didn’t look to be from anything unsavory.

“Shut up,” Alex said with an eye roll.

“Ok, so it wasn’t a date,” Johann confirmed. “But I think mum and dad probably still want to know what you and Reena were up to.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed

“We just went to the shooting range,” Alex said, flopping down in his chair. “Her dad has a membership at one and he offered to take us. It was fun. Nice way to let off some steam.”

“And do you have any spoils of your little conquest?’ Sherlock asked.

Alex smiled and reached into his pocket to pull out a folded target. He opened it up and slid it over to Sherlock on the table.

The target revealed a smattering of dots, though a majority of them were concentrated in the bullseye area.

“Looks as though you made a good start,” Sherlock remarked.

“Yeah, that’s my first one. Second’s here.” Alex said, pulling out the other and pushing it over as well.

That one had Sherlock staring. Just one larger messy hole in the middle. A conglomeration of smaller shots all mixing to form one piece of evidence about Alex’s ability to shoot.

“Very good,” he said, even as his thoughts went racing.

“Sure thing,” Alex said. “Might go back with Reena again. It was fun.”

“Oh yeah, really romantic for a date,” Johann said with a grin.

“Yeah, you come talk to me when you have your first girlfriend,” Alex said with a glare. “Then you can act all smug about it. Till then you lay off.”

Without another word he grabbed the two targets and headed to the stairs. Sherlock sat still for a moment, thinking over what he’d just seen.

“Do you think he’ll ever have a girlfriend?” Johann asked, plopping his chin into one hand and staring in the direction of the stairs.

“In time, perhaps,” Sherlock said. “When he’s ready.”

Johann frowned. “He’s gotten asked out loads of times.”

Sherlock glanced at his younger son. “And how do you know that?”

A light shrug before he answered, “seen the texts and all. He’s bad at picking passcodes.”

Sherlock might have chastised the boy, but he knew full well Molly would probably shoot him a knowing look if he did. There really was no point.

Johann went back to working on his homework. Sherlock pondered if he should ask more questions about what he’d seen. After all, Molly would be angry if he invaded Alex’s privacy…but if Johann was already doing so.

“Anything else remarkable about what Alex keeps on his phone or computer?”

Johann looked up, eyes glinting. “And what do I get if I tell you? He’ll come after me if he realizes I’ve sold him out.”

“So long as it’s nothing particularly unsavory, he won’t be punished,” Sherlock said, leaning forward. “So, anything to tell me?”

A light smile and then those warm brown eyes were looking back at the maths book on the table.

“Nope.”

Well, that settled it then. Sherlock smiled and leaned back in his chair. He was somehow proud of Johann for being unwilling to rat on his brother. He’d had far too many times in his own childhood where Mycroft had made a point of telling his parents things he didn’t want told.

“Well, he’ll have a girlfriend before you know it,” Sherlock said. “By how fast you’re both growing, I’m half expecting you’ll have one next time I blink.”

Johann rolled his eyes. “Oh please, I beat Alex in that contest long ago. Lily Turner and I kissed after school one day.”

“Oh?” Sherlock said, doing his best to keep his expression even. “And why was that?”

“Silly dare,” Johann answered, brow furrowing as he glanced at one of the equations. “But that’s all in the past now. First kiss and that nonsense. For now I need to focus on advancing myself. There will be time in the future to worry about girls.”

“I hope so,” Sherlock said. “And to be honest, as much as I suspect your brother will start dating soon, I’d rather begun to hope he will follow along that exact same idea. Perhaps it will be years before we ever have to host a girlfriend at the supper table or whatever nonsense it is that happens when you two select a significant other.”

Johann’s smile was contagious.

“Oh dad, you’re ridiculous,” he said. “You’ve got five months maximum. And then it’s over.”

“Want to bet?” Sherlock asked.

The boy looked up and frowned. “Bet?”

“You say five months? I say ten,” Sherlock said. “If I win you have to do the dishes for a month. If you win, I’ll give you twenty pounds.”

Johann grinned. “Better have that twenty pounds ready then. I’m coming for it.”

Sherlock just shook his head, unable to hide his smirk. “Oh you’ll be sorry.”

* * *

 

 

Four months passed. With the ring of criminals mostly gone, Sherlock spent most of his time trying to track Moriarty’s whereabouts. There would be bodies that would turn up, havoc that would appear in random cities. But it was almost impossible to predict a pattern. So he took up clients in his spare time, did his best to stay focused on that and on family life and everything else.

After a long day hunting down a murder suspect, Sherlock returned to the flat feeling ready for a rest. Perhaps a little violin playing would sooth his fraying nerves.

However, just as he was entering into the flat, he paused as he heard voices. His mind ran through the schedule he’d half attempted to store at the beginning of the week. Supposedly Johann had piano lessons this afternoon. Molly would be at the morgue for another hour. And he’d thought Molly had mentioned something about Alex having a study session.

He glanced into the living room in time to see Alex and another boy at the table.

“So you’re saying it would be phosphorus pentoxide?”

Alex leaned closer, peering down at the paper.

“Right!” He smiled. “See? I told you it would just take a little more practice for you to get a hold of it. Try the next one?”

The boy grinned and looked back at the book, finding the next problem.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Can you help?”

Alex placed a hand on his shoulder. “Well, all you have to do is balance. It’s simple math really. So if I combine these two to make aluminum hydroxide, what is the other product?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. These were ridiculously simple questions. He was almost certain Alex was in a more advanced chemistry class than whatever it was they were discussing. However, before he could step forward and ask for an answer, Alex had moved his chair a little closer.

“You’re learning fast,” he said with a warm smile.

“Do I get a reward… teacher?” the other student asked, one hand moving to slide down Alex’s thigh. For a moment Sherlock almost stepped forward, but he noticed Alex didn’t seem to react in the slightest to the touch. Familiar then. Welcome.

“Of course,” Alex said, and he leaned forward, eyes shining. “I told you how I’d help you, didn’t I?”

While Sherlock was sorely tempted to stand in silence a moment longer, he knew this couldn’t go on. It was too much of an invasion of privacy. He cleared his throat and stepped into the room fully.

Alex’s reaction was instantaneous. He pulled away, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms. The other boy’s hand had returned to the table as he glanced timidly towards the door.

“Hello,” Sherlock said, doing his best to keep his tone even. “And how’s the studying going?”

“Fine,” Alex said. “Just finishing up, actually. Conner was just heading home.”

The other boy shifted and reached for the chemistry text. “Er…right.”

Sherlock went into the kitchen, listening as Alex whispered to the other boy. He couldn’t make out quite what all it was, but he did hear Conner make a promise to text him. Alex walked to the door, and he could see the hesitation on his son’s face as Conner stood there waiting.

“Go ahead,” Sherlock muttered over his shoulder. “Give him a proper goodbye.”

Alex flushed and shot him a glare, but after a moment he did lean in and place a soft kiss on Conner’s cheek.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly.

“Bye, Alex.”

They both waited out the footsteps. Alex stood with folded arms, face paling as the door downstairs closed.

“You were supposed to be out late,” he snapped. “With the case and all.”

Sherlock sighed. “Solved it quicker than I expected.” He eyed Alex up and down. “I’m actually trying to solve another one now. Wondering what I must have done to make you think you needed to sneak around.”

Alex’s shoulders drooped.

“I…”

“You can tell me anything, Alex,” Sherlock said. “I hope you’ll know that from now on.”

Sherlock watched as Alex wrapped his arms a bit tighter around himself.

“I didn’t want…” he let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I…you always talked about how I’d be just like my dad. And now I’m not.”

“You’re not your father,” Sherlock said. “And I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel you need to be. You’re two completely different men, Alex. You have some of his character, and a lot of his looks, but you’re in all ways your own person.”

He paused and considered, looking Alex over again, noting the product in his hair. A few of those stereotypical signs of course, but not many. Deductions really could only take him so far.

“How long have you known?” Sherlock asked. “How long have Molly and I failed you in not being here if you needed to talk?”

Alex shrugged. “Since I was eleven maybe? Twelve? Figured it out pretty quick.”

“Sounds like it,” Sherlock said. “So…you and…Collin?”

“Conner,” Alex corrected with an eye roll. “Yeah. About a month.”

“I’m happy for you,” Sherlock said. “And I’m sure Molly will be too. And Johann I suppose.”

“Jo already knows,” Alex said. “Or at least I assume he does. He deduces everything. Better than you usually.”

Sherlock might have taken offense at the comment about anyone else, but with Johann, he couldn’t fault him.

“I suppose he does,” Sherlock said. “Do you want to tell Molly or shall I?”

Alex sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know. Do you think…she’ll be all right about it?”

“She’s fine with your Aunt Harry isn’t she?” Sherlock said, raising a brow.

He and Molly had never specifically talked about this, but he assumed she wasn’t the type to reject someone based on something like this. He thought back to her remark about being with Irene Adler and smirked. No, there was no plausible way someone as loving as Molly would turn away in a time like this.

There was a long pause and then Alex swallowed, arms tightening around himself a little.

“Do you think…do you think my dad would have…?” he broke off, and Sherlock thought he saw tears for a moment. But whatever was there Alex pulled back quickly.

“I don’t think anything you could have done would have made your father love you any less,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice steady. “He was the most loving man I’ve ever known. He would be so proud of you, Alex. As would your mother. I know that if they could see you now they would be so incredibly delighted with how much you’ve grown…with how far you’ve come.”

Alex offered a slightly watery smile before lunging in for a hug. It had been a long time since the last one. So long Sherlock wasn’t even sure he remembered when it had last been. The joys of teenagers and all that. So he squeezed tight and quickly pocketed the memory away in his palace for later. It would be good to have that one.

After a few seconds, Alex huffed and pulled away. Sherlock stood there and watched as the boy snatched up his mobile, likely to send Conner a text about the day’s events. He disappeared up the steps in a matter of seconds leaving Sherlock to think. He went to sit back down.

A half hour later, there were footsteps on the stairs, and he found himself smiling when Molly appeared in the doorway, four large bags of groceries weighing down both her arms. He rose and came to take two from her.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to peck his lips before following him to the kitchen. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” Sherlock said, easily sliding the bags onto the counter and then grabbing her last two as well. He moved to help her out of her coat, and watched as her eyes crinkled in amusement.

“Well you’re in a good mood at least,” she said. “That’s a good sign.”

“I am,” Sherlock confirmed. “Though depending on how you take some news that could change.”

“News?” she asked, moving to unload the bags. “What sort of news?”

“Well…I am happy to inform you that our Alex has officially found his first significant other,” he said carefully.

Molly turned around, jaw dropping. “No, really? After all this time? Did you meet her?”

“I did…I walked in on the two of them actually,” Sherlock said.

“Walked in on…” Molly trailed off, eyes going wide. “Dear god tell me they weren’t having sex?”

“No,” Sherlock confirmed. “Though we’ve already discussed that we’re not enforcing abstinence.”

Molly sighed. “No, but I still don’t like it really. He’s too young. And besides, I don’t want him doing it in the house.”

“How old were you for your first time?” Sherlock asked.

Molly thought for a moment. “Seventeen? Eighteen? Somewhere in there. With my boyfriend of two years. What about you?”

“Nineteen,” he said. “At university. It was as unspectacular as I’d imagined it would be. Hence my waiting. But Alex isn’t asexual. He’s a thriving, active, healthy young man. And it wouldn’t surprise me if he and his boyfriend will at some point have sex.”

Molly sighed. “Well, I suppose I’d best just stop thinking about it…” she trailed off, brow crinkling. “Hold on, did you say boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend,” Sherlock confirmed. “Noun. A significant other of the male variety. Yes. Boyfriend.”

She stared at him for a moment, blinking a few times. “He…oh…I hadn’t…” She continued to look quite puzzled. “Well I suppose that will do just fine then.”

“Good,” Sherlock said. “He was worried you might be upset.”

Molly waved a hand and went back to her groceries. “No. But I want to meet him. Whoever he is. And I’m just trying to think if there’s anything I’ve got to change? Should I start asking if Alex’d like to go shopping with me? And maybe I should you know…bake him a cake or something? I think I have enough different colors of food coloring to make some sort of rainbow… but is he out to his friends? Maybe I shouldn’t then if that’s not all that special. Perhaps he’d like it if I—”

“Molly,” Sherlock said firmly, “there’s no need for any of that. Really, treat it like any other day or you’ll make him uncomfortable. No rainbow cakes necessary. And I would suggest you continue to treat him as himself, not as some gay stereotype. He’s still our sporty rambunctious boy. If he expresses interests in any of those things in the future, go ahead and provide them. But for now, best to say congratulations and move on.”

Molly turned to smile at him. “God, I never thought I’d see the day you’d understand someone better than me. I suppose you’re right. I’ll leave it be then.”

Sherlock gazed at her, though he was unable to keep a smile away. “You care for him, and that’s completely reasonable. But we should do what we can to make this easy for him.”

There was a second’s pause before Molly moved in to kiss him. Sherlock allowed the attentions.

“Thank you for telling me,” Molly said.

He could see the joy in her eyes and was glad that there weren’t any repercussions as Alex had feared there might be. He let himself relax some now that the news was broken.

“I’ll just have to think about everything,” Molly said. “I just always pictured him marrying a nice girl and settling down to have children one day. I suppose maybe I’m just projecting or something like that.” She smiled in spite of herself. “But I’d love a son-in-law just as much I suppose. And he could always adopt or find a surrogate or something, couldn’t he?”

Sherlock groaned. “For heaven’s sake, Molly, he’s _fifteen_.”

She giggled, flushing a bit. “True. I know. I’m sorry I’m just so excited. I suppose since I never got to plan my own wedding I’m already excited by the prospect of helping our son plan his.”

He started to roll his eyes, only to stop and consider that. “It means that much to you? Planning a wedding?”

“I had sort of thought I’d have one most of my life, yes,” Molly said with a shrug. “But really, you have a point in some ways. Weddings are silly things. We’re living together. We have children. Aren’t those the important things?”

“Well, I suppose there are some benefits,” Sherlock said. “Taxes and all that.”

Molly squealed and threw a slap his way that he easily dodged. “Oh, don’t you dare say that!”

He smiled and moved away from her. “You’re being absurd, that’s a perfectly logical reason to get married.”

“Oh yes, because that’s what a good marriage is made out of _logic_ ,” Molly said, crossing her arms, although her eyes were still glittering. “I can see why you’d be so against it if you went in like an attitude like that.”

Sherlock moved forward, catching her hand in his. “Oh, of course. And I suppose it’s different for you.”

Molly lifted her head, still smiling. “Only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony. Which is why I will end up an old maid.”

“Hardly,” Sherlock said. “Old maids don’t usually take up residence with bachelors and have children with them.”

Molly giggled again. “No. It’s a quote, silly. But you’re right, it’s not that important given all we have so far.”

He managed to swallow, keeping her hand tight in his as he ran through the facts.

“Molly, when he’s….he’s finally gone, I’d be glad to give you what you want.”

In a matter of seconds Molly’s jaw was hanging open.

“Sherlock, what…you…are…are you proposing?”

“Sort of,” he muttered. “In a manner of speaking. If we defeat Moriarty I’ll tie the knot. But I can’t until this is put to rest, Molly. I really can’t.”

“I don’t ask you to,” Molly said easily, squeezing his hand in hers. She leaned in to peck his cheek before pulling away with a warm smile. “I love you so very much, Sherlock. And I’d never ask you to do what you don’t want to. If there comes a time when we want to consider it, we can. But for now you’re right…it does no good to dwell on things that might not come to pass for some time.”

“We will plan when they come up,” Sherlock agreed, moving in to kiss her lips this time. “And until then we’ll live quite well, enjoying the moments we have.”

* * *

 

 

“Can I go to France for the summer?” Alex asked.

Sherlock looked up from his computer, furrowing his brow as he worked over the question again.

“What?”

“France,” Alex said. “This summer. With Conner. He asked if I’d go with him.”

Johann made a gagging noise from the sofa. “Dear lord, you two have been dating for a few months and you’re already planning your honeymoon to the city of love? I’m going to be sick.”

“City of lights,” Sherlock muttered. “And why do you believe you need to spend an entire summer there?”

Alex shrugged. “Not much to do here is there? You’re ridiculously busy with your casework. Molly’s taken over all that new work at the lab. And Jo will probably just lock himself in our room out of the reach of the sunlight most of the day like the little vampire he is.”

“I resent that,” Johann said. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with spending time inside.”

“Beyond vitamin D deficiency,” Alex scoffed. “Please, Sherlock? It’d be for a few weeks. Just during the hols and then I’d be back. Conner even promised he’d bring study material and we can work on that too.”

“What, you’re bringing maths because you don’t have something _hard_ that you’ll be doing all day?”

Sherlock shot Johann a look, which quickly had the boy bowing his head.

“I don’t see why not,” he said after a moment. “We’ll run it past, Molly, but I believe there shouldn’t be a problem.”

Alex beamed while Johann continued to sulk. Sherlock thought it over one last time, but he couldn’t see any reason why not. Let Alex go for a bit, achieve some independence. And besides, the boy was right. He had so much to do to be ready for Moriarty.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please don’t flame me over Alex. If it’s not your cup of tea, please just stop reading. I tried to hint earlier by saying I would prefer readers offended by Harry/Anna to leave, but who knows if you listened. There won’t be anything explicit between him and his boyfriend. Anyhow, he’s my character (technically since we know nothing about Baby Watson yet and it’s supposed to be a girl anyways), so I can do what I like with him. Hope you understand that.
> 
> I’ll try to keep posting when I can. I actually am tempted to just write the rest and post it all in one big chunk, because I’m scared that if I write it chapter by chapter I might just lose confidence and stop altogether. So, don’t lose faith if you see other projects being updated before this. The likelihood is that I’m working on this one in private to put up all together. Should only be a few more chapters anyways. We’re coming close to the end.
> 
> Thanks to deby, applejack0808, Icecat62, Saphiela, and satin_doll for commenting!


	30. Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock is shocked to learn what happened in France, Mycroft visits with a strange offer, and Johann has a meaningful talk with his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for a non-graphic death, some mentions of BDSM, discussion of rape. I believe that's it. Let me know if I missed anything.

Something was wrong. That much was evident the moment Alex walked in the door. But whatever it was, Sherlock immediately had a bad feeling he wasn't going to get the answer he wanted just from deductions. Several weeks was enough time for him to easily miss key signs.

Overall everything should have pointed to a good trip. Alex looked tan and had a few postcards tucked into the journal he was carrying in his hands. When he'd called partway through the trip he'd said things were fine, though he'd excused himself within a few minutes of talking to say he had other things to go do.

But there were damning signs. Those dark circles Sherlock remembered from his childhood. And a twitch whenever he heard a noise behind him. And he was exceptionally quiet, even as they asked him questions about how it had been. Molly seemed oblivious to it. But Johann kept eyeing Alex throughout dinner.

It wasn't until after that he finally had a moment alone. Molly rushed Johann off to his piano lesson. And Sherlock cornered Alex in the kitchen.

"So how was it really?" Sherlock asked. "You don't have to lie to me, Alex. I thought we'd talked about this."

"Fine," Alex murmured, eyes still focused down on the sink. "It was fine."

"Something happened," Sherlock pressed. "What was it?"

He saw a muscle in Alex's jaw twitch.

"Nothing."

Sherlock pulled one of Alex's hands out of the soapy water, forcing him to turn around. Alex looked at the ground rather than into his eyes.

"Talk to me."

Alex swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he continued to stare down the floor.

Sherlock noticed Alex was wearing long sleeves for the first time. Without a second's hesitation he rolled one up to reveal a darkening bruise.

"What happened?" he said again, doing his best to keep the frantic fear out of his voice.

"Conner," Alex muttered. "He just..." He closed his eyes and pulled his hand away, jerking the sleeve back down in the process. "We're not really…into the same things."

Sherlock frowned. "You're referring to sexual activities of the more…unusual variety?"

It made sense, but it still was shocking for him to consider.

"He wanted to…tie me up," Alex muttered, flushing. "I let him. I didn't like it. We…we broke up."

 _He's fifteen_ , he thought to himself. God, how could this sort of thing had happened.

"Did he assault you?" Sherlock said, voice coming out as a hiss. "Did he force himself on you?"

Alex finally looked up to stare at him. "No," he said incredulously. "It just…it was just unpleasant, that's all." He rubbed at his wrist, most likely unconscious of the fact he was doing so. "I'm fine, I swear…I just…need a few days I guess."

He pulled away when Sherlock tried to reach for him. Though Sherlock was by now much more used to the teenage routine, he was still startled for a few minutes by the novelty of the act. It was different than before. Not because Alex was embarrassed. But because he was uncomfortable.

"Go get some rest," Sherlock said softly. "I am so very sorry for everything that's happened to you. I…hope things will work out for the best. But…I'm proud of you for ending things. That could have been a truly terrible relationship had you allowed it to continue."

Alex shrugged. "Guess so," he said, though his voice sounded hollow. He headed to the stairs, and Sherlock debated saying something more. Was there anything to add to such a conversation? He couldn't think of anything. So he left it at that, just watched the shadow disappear up the stairs, wishing there was something more he could do.

* * *

 

It took Alex a few weeks to settle back down again. And even then, Sherlock wasn't sure anything was entirely normal. The boy asked for periods to go study at the library instead of in the flat. He seemed quieter, less happy. Sherlock suggested therapy at one point, but Alex was adamant that he didn't need it.

Molly commented that Sherlock seemed to be in a mood himself. And though he tried to deny it, after a while it became obvious she was right. He didn't like his family being out of sorts. No, not with everything else that had happened before.

To make his mood all the worse, Sherlock came home one evening to find Mycroft sitting on his sofa, calmly sipping tea while Molly hovered in the kitchen. Alex was sitting in one of the chairs, staring down at a file.

"So you see, it's all there," Mycroft said setting the saucer and cup on the coffee table. "Mostly likely anything you need to know. I'm sure you understand this is classified, you can't share it with anyone."

"Of course," Alex murmured, scanning over the pages with a frown.

"What's going on?" Sherlock asked, stalking forward.

Mycroft looked up and gave a forced smile. "So good of you to join us, Sherlock. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you. I just thought I'd drop by to talk with Alexander for a few moments."

Molly glanced at him from the kitchen, eyes wide. He tried to decide what he should do first, punch Mycroft, grab the file from Alex, or simply go demand an explanation from Molly, who had clearly witnessed most everything that had taken place.

"And what is the meaning of this visit?" Sherlock asked. Alex still hadn't looked up from the file.

"I'm sure Molly and Alexander can fill you in as they see fit," Mycroft said with a dismissive wave.

"And what do you think I should do?" Alex asked, finally looking up. "In your opinion that is?"

Mycroft sniffed. "It's a good opportunity. I do believe you are still quite young, however. And I might advise at least waiting. It all depends what you'd like to do with your future, of course. But there are many opportunities in this organization."

Alex nodded, glancing down at the papers with a little bit of hesitation.

"What on earth are you considering?" Sherlock demanded. He decided what option he liked best and stalked over to snatch up the papers.

Looking down at the pages he scanned them over in a matter of seconds. But really, he didn't need much time to figure out what they were about. The first page listed the subject in the header: Agent Alexander. For a moment his heart felt like it might stop, until he quickly realized the agent described was nothing like Alex. She was described as being in her twenties and thirties during missions, a young Caucasian female of American nationality. Amanda Gail Rosemary Alexander was the name listed. Something was familiar. And then it clicked. A.G.R.A.

"This is Mary's file," he whispered softly, glancing up to shoot his brother an incredulous glance.

"I thought Alexander ought to know more about why he's received offers from MI6," Mycroft said calmly.

Sherlock turned his attention to the teenager, still in a state of disbelief.

"It's true. They've been discreet. But they've asked," Alex said.

"You're still….so young," Sherlock protested.

"If you remember I was sixteen when they recruited me," Mycroft said. "Age is a number, Sherlock. You wrote materials about chemistry that are still used in universities to this day when you were younger than Alex. Alex's own mother was asked to join when she was seventeen. It's more common than you'd think actually, pulling young people who show great potential out when they can. At least to begin training them and readying them for a potential career. There won't be any field work yet. And with information about Alex's heritage, I believe they've become all the more interested."

"No one was supposed to know about Mary," Sherlock protested.

Mycroft shrugged. "She's dead. It doesn't matter."

"But her enemies could still come after Alex," Sherlock hissed.

"There are few people who know her real identity," Mycroft said. "And these events are decades ago. Many of her enemies are already gone. In case you hadn't realized, a large amount were in Moriarty's inner circles. They are taken care of, thanks to you."

"Perhaps," Sherlock said. "He has a few pawns left, though."

Alex looked up at him, frowning. "You mean there's more?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Very little. And no one of real importance. He's coming close to his end. I've made good progress the last few months."

"So, is there anything more I need to add in this little chat?" Mycroft asked with a wry smile. "Or shall we leave it at that?"

"So…this is why they want me?" Alex asked, brow furrowing.

"You're an intelligent athletic young man with a mother and father who both proved themselves in life. Mary, as you can see, was an amazing agent for the CIA and made some unfortunate choices when she was let go. Your father was a loyal part of the army and a skilled doctor. Yes they both have a part of it," Mycroft agreed. "But I've looked over your records, and they're good. You are certainly a suitable candidate given everything."

"How long do I have to decide?"

Sherlock was unable to keep himself from letting out a sigh. Was this really going to be a consideration? He hadn't spent much time thinking about what Alex might do with his future. But working in intelligence really had never been anywhere on his radar.

"A few weeks would likely be suitable," Mycroft advised. "I wouldn't leave them hanging for too long, but taking some time would be understandable…and perhaps wise."

"You never answered my question," Alex said. "Not really. What do you advise?"

Mycroft sighed. "I'd say that you have great skills, Alex. Ones that could be very useful to your country. But…I sense this might not be something you are interested in. And if that is the case, don't consider any further. You should have a passion for the work if you wish to be a part of it. Even someone like me can admit that."

Sherlock pursed his lips, wondering why he hadn't been asked his opinion on the matter yet.

Alex's teeth kept worrying his lip. "I just…haven't thought about it," he said quietly. "I'd thought I'd perhaps pursue something in the medical field."

"There are many possibilities," Mycroft agreed.

Sherlock was about to break in with his own advice, when a voice called out, breaking the silence.

"No, you can't!" Johann yelled as he dashed into the room from the bathroom where he'd clearly been standing listening..

"Johann Charles Arthur Holmes," Molly scolded from the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

"You can't do it, Alex," Johann cried, eyes wide.

"I haven't agreed to anything," Alex said.

"You can't," Johann said. "Please. You could be killed. Don't!"

Alex frowned. "God, shut up! I haven't agreed to anything yet. And I can take care of myself, thanks."

Johann turned his attention to Mycroft. "Please, talk him out of it. You know this wouldn't be any good."

"I will give him my advice, but that's the most I can do," Mycroft said, folding his hands. "You should know better, Johann."

Alex sighed and set the file aside. "I'll think about it. But I don't think will. I…there's too much else I want to do."

Mycroft nodded, rising from his seat to scoop up the file and then reach for his umbrella.

"That's fine. Contact me first if you would. I'll clear things for you. Arrange it all."

"You suck," Johann muttered, glowering.

"Give me a call too, Johann," Mycroft said. "It's been a while since you and I had a chat. Perhaps another one would do you some good. For now, good day Alexander, Johann…Sherlock."

He walked to the door, leaving Sherlock to stew over his words. He glanced at Johann.

"You've been talking with him?" he snapped.

Johann shrugged. "Sometimes he's helpful with things. Other times…not so much."

Sherlock let out a sigh. "You would do better not to talk to him. Both of you," he said, glancing at Alex.

"I knew he'd have advice for me," Alex said, folding his arms. "More informed than anything you could have given me. And besides, I…I needed to know more about my mother."

Sherlock frowned. "I could have helped you with either of those things. Are you really going to consider this?"

"I don't see why not," Alex said.

"Because you could be killed," Johann snapped.

Alex huffed. "I could be killed any day, you idiot. Don't you realize that? Every time I cross a street I could be hit by a car. Every time I go on the tube there could be some kind of malfunction. I could be exposed to a deadly disease anywhere in public. Death is a possibility at all times. And if my own death might help keep other people safe, then it would be more worth it than any other death."

Johann shook his head. "You're being an idiot."

Alex glared at him. "Just because you've got a slightly higher IQ than me does not justify you treating me like I'm stupid. If I was, MI6 wouldn't be offering me a position. So take the stick out of your arse and get over yourself."

Sherlock knew he probably should chastise Alex for being rude, but he didn't have the energy. He allowed the teen to storm off, waiting for the door to slam before turning to Johann.

"You need to let your brother be," he said softly. "It's not your life."

"You're going to support him?" Johann demanded. His bottom lip wobbled precariously. "Really? After everything that's happened you're just going to let him go off to his death?"

Sherlock sighed. "I will make my opinion clear. But beyond that, there's very little I can do, Johann. For now, yes I can deny him the right to go off and do anything crazy. But he's a few years away from becoming an adult…and once that happens, he's going to be able to do whatever he wants."

"He's right," Molly said, finally emerging from the kitchen. "We'll let him make his own choices. Just as we'll do with you when you grow up."

"It's stupid," Johann muttered. "You're going to let him get killed and it will be all your fault."

Johann ran off, though Sherlock wasn't really surprised when it ended up going downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's instead of up to his room where Alex was already holed up. Children. What a headache.

"Things will be better in a few days," Molly said soothingly. "Don't you worry about it. They'll both get over it."

* * *

 

He came home a few days ago to discover that things had not in fact become any better. He walked in to find Johann sitting at the table with a small cardboard box. Even from downstairs, Sherlock could hear crying coming from upstairs.

Johann looked up and sighed.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked, glancing to the stairwell. "Are you and Alex fighting again?"

The younger boy shook his head. "No. I…it's nothing to do with me. When we got home from school…" he swallowed. "We found Toby…"

"Toby?" Sherlock said, frowning.

"He's dead," Johann said with a small shrug. He looked at the ground with his brow furrowed, mouth kept in a frown. "Alex is really upset."

Sherlock froze. "Dead?" He walked to the windows instantly, looking around for signs of entry. "Where did you find the body? Was it posed?"

Johann stared at him for a moment before seeming to catch on.

"It wasn't Moriarty," he clarified with a shake of his head. "He was old, dad. Really old. I mean, mum had him for years before she even got together with you. He was on his way out, we all knew it. It was only a matter of time."

Sherlock swallowed, doing his best to tune out the sounds coming from the bedroom above. He went to sit at his chair, hands clenching the armrests.

"Well, at least that's one good thing about today," Sherlock murmured. "Natural death…"

"Alex isn't going to get over it easily," Johann pointed out.

"No. I'd imagine it might take some time."

He watched as Johann's fingers trailed over the box.

"We'll wait for Molly to decide what to do with the body," Sherlock said.

"She'll be pretty sad too," Johann pointed out.

"Yes." Sherlock considered for a moment and was about to add something more when Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway.

"Sherlock, have you broken the bell again? There's a young man at the door."

He frowned, and glanced behind the landlady to see a teenager standing in the doorway. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder, and was clearly nervous based on his shifting posture and the hand he kept running through his already quite ruffled hair.

"Sorry, Alex texted me," he said. "Could you tell me where to find him?"

"Upstairs," Johann said. "I'll show you if you'd like. But it's the first door if you take the stairs up."

"Thank you." And before either of them could say something else, the boy had disappeared up the stairs.

"Do you know him?" Sherlock asked.

Johann shrugged. "You're losing your touch. New boyfriend."

"Already?" Sherlock said, blinking a few times.

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "Oh, he seems so lovely. I hope he takes good care of our Alex."

"Or at least better care than the last one," Sherlock muttered. "Are you sure they're dating? That seems so…quick?"

Johann ignored him, focusing back on the box. "It's probably good. It means he's gotten over things. And besides, he could use a little comfort right now. I suppose we all could really."

"Yes," Sherlock said, listening for any more sounds from upstairs and failing to hear any. He wasn't sure if he preferred the crying really to the mystery of what Alex and his boyfriend might be getting up to. "I suppose you're right."

He heard another voice call out from downstairs. Mrs. Hudson frowned before heading back down a few steps.

"It's Detective Lestrade," Mrs. Hudson called up, before returning up to the room with the detective behind her.

"Er…bad timing?" Lestrade asked, glancing at Johann's sullen face.

"Death of a beloved pet," Sherlock said, voice suddenly choking before he could stop it.

He couldn't deny he had very little love for Toby. The cat had been a real nuisance as a whole. The amount of damage to the flat and the experiments the animal had ruined had certainly never made him really endearing. And no matter how sweet he was with Molly or the boys, Toby had always remained quite hostile to Sherlock as a whole. But when Sherlock thought of Alex's red-rimmed eyes and the obvious devastation he was feeling…all he could think back to was Redbeard.

"I can come back another time," Lestrade suggested with a frown. "Just had a case I thought you could help me with."

"He'll go, Uncle Greg," Johann said. "Just give him a few minutes."

Sherlock sighed and rose from his chair, still wondering what had possessed Johann to begin using the title Uncle with Lestrade. It always set him on edge because he half expected Mycroft to appear at any moment.

He went over to snatch up his coat and scarf while Lestrade went over to stand next to Johann.

"Haven't seen you in ages, kid. How are you doing? School going well?"

"Yes," Johann said. "School's fine. I'm fine. Other than insane psychopaths running loose trying to kill us and Alex's favorite living thing dying."

Lestrade winced. "Er…right. Sorry. Your mum mentioned you're learning piano though?"

"For now," Johann said. "It's easier than I expected. I might pick something else if I become bored."

"Oh, and I suppose you're becoming a black belt and mastering a million languages like your brother too?" Lestrade said with a smile.

"I'm currently working on Chinese," Johann said. "Alex is still focused on his Russian and French mostly. I'll catch up to him soon. And I have no desire to go kick people around like he does. If mother and father ever force me to take a self-defense class there will be several other methods I'd choose first."

Lestrade stood speechless for a moment before shaking his head. Sherlock just smiled as he put on his scarf.

"Ready to go? Or would you prefer to have more time for my son to make your own little life feel pathetic. He manages to do so with me at least once a week…I'm sure in comparison to you he's going to make the difference seem even worse."

After a moment, Lestrade shook his head. He turned to Sherlock with a baffled expression.

"You're amazing, Sherlock," he said, managing to smile after a moment. "We all thought you'd kill Alex, seriously. But here are your kids…a little odd but definitely amazing. You've done great work. Well probably thanks to Molly of course…"

"Oh do shut up," Sherlock said. "I've done my part too. Now was there a case you wanted me to see? Or are you just looking for some company in your lonely life."

Lestrade huffed, but did head towards the stairs. Sherlock followed behind him. With Molly still at work and Alex being comforted by his boyfriend, he really didn't have a reason to stay. Only Johann lingered at the table.

Sherlock promised to be back in a couple of hours and left before the boy could protest. After all, Johann was more like himself in that regard. He'd be perfectly fine. Keep his emotions all in check without assistance.

* * *

 

A noise woke him midway through the night. Sherlock sat up and glanced at Molly sound asleep beside him, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm of sleep. He looked to the clock she'd set on the nightstand. 3 AM. He groaned and put a hand over his eyes. If only Molly hadn't adjusted him to some normal sort of schedule, it really wouldn't have bothered him.

He rose and slid on his dressing gown before heading out into the living room. There was nothing particularly threatening. Moriarty would likely have done more to disguise his entry. So it couldn't be him.

He heard the creak of the stairs before a figure appeared in the doorway. He froze, wondering if he should have grabbed his gun, only to pause at the size of the person there.

In fact, judging by dimensions, it took him only a matter of seconds to realize the shadow was a child. And after that, it was really just a matter of thinking logically before he determined that the shadowed person was in fact his own son.

"Johann," he said calmly. "What are you doing?"

He reached to flick on a light, taking in his son's stricken face before moving closer.

"I needed a walk," Johann whispered.

"Why?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head.

"I…I couldn't sleep."

Sherlock eyed the six year old, looking him over for clues. As far as he could see, the boy was being truthful. He had on a warm jacket and his cheeks were slightly flushed.

"And if you can't sleep, what makes you think going out into the dark by yourself is a good idea?" Sherlock asked.

Johann nibbled on his lip, glancing at the floor. "I just…I didn't…I wanted…" He swallowed.

Sherlock went to sit on the sofa. "Come here," he said, motioning to the spot beside him. "Perhaps it's time you and I had a chat. Now, what's going on?"

After a moment, Johann padded over, moving towards the spot indicated. Hesitating for just a second, he looked at Sherlock before moving to wrap his arms around his father. Johann buried his face in Sherlock's chest, a small noise escaping him as he did.

Sherlock shushed him before gently patting him. He wasn't really sure what to say, but he did his best to find the words.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I keep…thinking," Johann whispered. "It's like I can't shut my brain off."

His eyes closed as he considered that. How often had he felt the same thing in his life? He thought of his first time trying drugs. Admiring not only the chemical responses, but the way that he could stop thinking for a while. There were other factors, of course, but he remembered finding some of the greatest enjoyment in that. It was so hard to hear that his six year old was already feeling the same way.

"What do you think about?" Sherlock asked.

Johann made a soft noise. "Everything."

"Anything specific?"

He felt the small arms around his middle tighten ever so slightly.

"I think about if we can win this. The odds…they seem impossibly low. How can we possibly beat Moriarty when everything is against us? I…keep thinking about what will happen if he kills you…or mum or Alex."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a minute, pulling Johann a little tighter, rocking him slightly as he did.

"Shush, you needn't worry," he said. "We'll beat him, Johann. And if anything happened to Molly and I…well I believe your Uncle Robert or…Mycroft would take you. You wouldn't be alone."

"But I'd miss you," Johann whispered. "More than Alex misses Toby."

"Well, I suppose that's true," Sherlock said. "Is that all you can't stop thinking about?"

Johann shrugged. "I just want to stop. I want to…I want to sleep. I want to rest. I'm so tired."

The boy's eyes fluttered a little, and Sherlock almost smiled. He watched as the boy began to relax some.

"Tell me more about it," Sherlock said.

"I can't stop," Johann said. "I try, but I can't get it out of my head. And then my heart starts pounding, and I can't relax."

"You can," Sherlock whispered. "Just take some deep breaths."

He ran a hand through Johann's hair, fingers winding into the small curls. He sighed, trying his best to come up with the right response. Honestly, there wasn't a good way to fix this. He tried his best to think about what Molly would do if she were here. Probably everything he was doing now. Holding him, telling him everything would be all right.

"We'll get Moriarty," he promised. "I told your mother when he hurt you last time I wouldn't let him touch you again."

"You can't protect me," Johann whispered. "Not when he holds too many of the cards."

"We're depleting them," Sherlock said. "It will be fine."

He rocked a little more, doing his best to keep himself calm as he did.

"I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Nothing will," Sherlock said.

It was a promise he knew was probably foolish to make. At one time, he knew he would have chastised John for making something like it. But there was no avoiding the need to reassure his son. And if a little false hope was the best means, then he would employ it.

Johann's breathing eased some, and before long, Sherlock felt him fall limp in his arms. He sighed and cradled him just a tiny bit tighter. Watching as the lines in his small face disappeared and he found some peace in sleep.

"Sleep well," Sherlock said. "I'm going after the monsters, my son. I promise. I'll take him down in the end. Even if it destroys me too."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, did a double chapter update (before updating another WIP) for you guys so I hope that makes up for the wait a little bit. Bit of a low action chapter, so I'll try to see if I can make the next one more exciting. 
> 
> Thanks to all who have supported me. We lost a few last chapter, but I was glad to see several familiar followers stuck around. I'm bi, so I take LGBTQ+ matters very seriously and tend to be a bit overly sensitive about them (hence my long note last time). So thank you again for being so considerate.
> 
> Thank you to applejack0808, renniejoy, reesiesteve, Icecat62, and deby for commenting!


	31. Thirty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Christmas comes to Baker street with a few surprises, Sherlock encounters a player in the game he hadn't anticipated, and Sherlock begins to try to put together a plan for the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the special definitely gave some contrary ideas to this story ever being possible, but I'm continuing nonetheless (the joys of fanfiction of course!). Hope you enjoy it regardless! Feel free to talk to me about the special or anything else on Tumblr (same name as my fanfiction one)!
> 
> Chapter warnings: mentions of murders and violence. Nothing too graphic (in my opinion).

"Oh my god," Molly said. "Sherlock, please tell me that isn't what I think it is."

He looked up from his project and frowned at the tone of her voice. Was there a reason she was so concerned?

Her eyebrows were furrowed, and she was busy tugging at the neckline of her dress in her usual nervous fashion. He looked it over, noting the price tag tucked under the arm that she hadn't quite managed to snip off. Something new then. Though that was unsurprising considering she'd lost five pounds in the last two months alone. He hadn't made any remarks yet. He knew that such things in Molly were rarely good signs…not when she hadn't changed her diet in any respect.

"It's a Christmas gift," Sherlock said. "Obviously. All it takes is using your eyes to discern that much."

She stared at him for a long moment. "I know it's a gift. What I'm concerned about is the fact that we never discussed what I can already deduce is _inside_ the box. I swear, sometimes you really are clueless, Sherlock."

He frowned sitting up a little straighter. What could he possibly have missed? He eyed her again, noting how she shifted under his gaze.

"But you've mentioned how much you missed him. I assumed it would only be natural that you and Johann and Alex would want another. It seemed like a suitable Christmas gift to me."

Molly positively scowled, though her face softened some as she heard footsteps on the stairs. Sherlock watched as Mrs. Hudson came up with Lestrade behind her.

"It's so lovely you two decided to do this," Mrs. Hudson said. "I've missed you two the last few years, always going off to see Sherlock's parents."

"Yes," Molly said. "Well, it was time for a Christmas at Baker Street for once."

"In other words, even Molly Hooper herself can only stand so much time with my parents," Sherlock said with a shake of his head.

Even with the two of them off traveling, he knew he'd managed to hit the real truth of the matter. Especially when Molly's cheeks flushed.

Mrs. Hudson just waved a hand as she ushered Lestrade over to the table already laden with various cakes and sweets. The detective inspector politely filled his plate before coming to take a seat on the sofa.

"So, what were you two quarreling about before we came up?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "It's Christmas. You've promised you'll behave, Sherlock."

"I have never made such a promise in my life," Sherlock said.

Molly sighed and shook her head. "I wouldn't trouble yourself with it, Mrs. Hudson. You'll find out when we open gifts I suspect."

Lestrade grinned and downed another large swallow of his drink.

"Not an engagement ring or something ridiculous I hope. I thought you two were determined never to tie the knot."

"Some of us have no desire to end up divorced," Sherlock said. "Painful things divorces, aren't they Lestrade?"

His smile disappeared. "Eh, you've no right to say a thing like that. You heard Mrs. H. You behave, you hear me?"

"Sorry," Sherlock said, offering a faux smile as he steepled his hands. "At least your new lover is proving to be semi-successful. Or it seems to have lasted a decent amount of time if nothing else."

Lestrade just scowled and stood up to go pour himself another drink. Sherlock wondered if he should comment on that as well…the obvious point that the lover was mysteriously absent and Lestrade was downing more than his usual amount of alcohol.

But before he could. Molly reached out and delivered a stinging slap to his arm. He winced and pulled away from her, sighing as he recalculated his words.

"I apologize," Sherlock finally said. "My point simply is I don't believe either Molly or myself really sees a reason to go through a ceremony at this point."

Molly eyed him, but she said nothing. He knew she was probably still thinking about what he'd told her. And he meant it of course. Marriage was pointless in his eyes. But there was no reason he wouldn't go through with a ceremony if it meant something to Molly.

But only after he was certain things were safe. There was no point in dragging themselves through all that nonsense with Moriarty still on the loose.

He sighed, wondering if it was too much to hope that by next Christmas things would finally be wrapped up.

"And where are the boys?" Mrs. Hudson asked, pulling him from his thoughts.

Sherlock straightened up, glancing towards the stairs. He honestly wasn't entirely sure what was keeping the two of them so long.

"Upstairs," Molly said. "They'll be down in a minute."

There was a moment of awkward silence. And then Sherlock heard the telltale sound of footsteps before both boys appeared in the door. The only problem was that neither was empty handed.

"Happy birthday to you," Alex began, voice unwavering in spite of its poor key. Johann grimaced at his brother's lack of tune, but nonetheless sang as well, doing his best to add a harmony, never letting go of the cake balanced in his hands. The confection wavered slightly as they stepped down, several candles flickering as they bathed the chocolate frosting in an orange glow.

"What nonsense is this," Sherlock muttered even as Molly giggled.

"Happy birthday dear _Sherlock_!" Molly and Mrs. Hudson and even Lestrade chorused at the same time as Johann said "dad". "Happy birthday to you!"

"Oh blow out the candles and make a wish, dear!" Mrs. Hudson said, clapping her hands.

"Have all of you lost your minds? Or did you just completely forget that my birthday is in January?"

Alex grinned and came forward to set several presents into his lap.

"We're not idiots, you know. We just knew if we tried to sit you down for a party in January that you'd resist. So we figured if we surprised you early at an occasion you already felt obligated to attend that you'd have no choice but to accept us celebrating you."

"Precisely," Johann said with a nod.

Sherlock sighed, but did oblige the boys at least by leaning forward and puffing a long breath onto the flickering flames of the candles. It only took two blows before he'd extinguished them. Alex and Johann both grinned before setting the cake aside.

"Now boys," Molly said. "Though I believe you do have some things for your father, I think Sherlock's gift should probably be opened first…"

She gave a pointed glare in the direction of the box.

Johann went to grab it. He knelt and glanced at the tag before nodding to Alex.

"It's for you," he said.

"Well, it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce what that box probably is," Alex said, eyeing the holes in the side. "Sherlock, you didn't have to."

Even with his meek protests, Alex went over to lift the lid. There was a soft noise and then one of Alex's hands dipped into the box to scoop out the contents. Sherlock smiled as Alex pulled out a small orange kitten that had begun to mew.

"Sherlock," Molly said with a sigh.

"What?" Sherlock asked, blinking a few times as he gazed at her. "It seemed a perfectly logical present. You buy one something that they need replaced. For example, you bought Johann new dress shoes since he's outgrown his last ones."

Molly pursed her lips. "I would have thought with _Redbeard_ , you'd be familiar with the idea that pets aren't exactly something that can just be replaced."

It was impossible to restrain a flinch from her words. That name, he didn't know how it could still inspire such pain. But it did, and he recoiled from the emotions the moment he began to feel them.

"That's irrelevant," Sherlock said with a wave of his hand, doing his best to keep the images of his beautiful old dog out of his mind.

"Is it, Sherlock?" Molly snapped.

"I like him," Alex said. He looked up and stared at Molly fiercely. "So don't you dare chew him out. I'm happy."

"What are you going to name the little bugger?" Lestrade asked, taking a larger swallow of his drink as he looked between Sherlock and Molly.

"I think I'll name him Brutus."

"Brutus is a dog's name, dear," Mrs. Hudson said.

Alex's head snapped up and a look Sherlock didn't think he'd ever seen passed over Alex's face.

"I want to name him that and I'm going to," he snapped. "He's _my_ cat."

"Quite right," Molly said, putting on a smile even as she glanced at Mrs. Hudson nervously. "You name him what you wish, Alex."

Sherlock still found his gaze on Alex's face, trying to discern what that wrinkled brow and those pursed lips really meant. He didn't think he'd ever seen the boy snap at Mrs. Hudson of all people.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson said with a wave of her hand.

Alex's face softened some. "Westley," he said after a moment. "His name is Westley."

For some reason Sherlock found himself searching his mind palace, trying to place the significance. There was something in both. Some meaning that had caused Alex to become so snappish in the first place. Brutus… Mrs. Hudson was correct it did strike a resemblance more to a canine name than the softer feline counterparts.

He was so lost pondering that he missed what Molly had said until he looked up to find her gazing at him fixedly.

"We're going to cut the cake now, is that all right?" she asked.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

He watched as Alex withdrew to the other side of the room, still holding Westley close. The boy had his head bent forward slightly, hair falling into his eyes as he focused his attention on the cat. He sat down in John's old chair, looking up slightly as he did so. And again Sherlock was struck by how much he looked like his father. But in the moment there was nothing in that to be celebrated.

Sherlock could so easily recall that first day together. John in the chair with his cane beside him while Mrs. Hudson welcomed him to the flat. He remembered John's face lined, eyes shadowed, merely a fragment of his true self. Harrowed by war and pain and stress.

And here was a mirror image not conjured by mind palace. But in a boy half John's age, still somehow bearing the marks of harder battles than most adults had faced in a lifetime.

Merry Christmas indeed.

"Dad?"

He looked up to see Johann standing to his side with a piece of cake. Those eyes stared at him, then over towards Alex.

"Your cake," Johann said, pushing the plate forward. He leaned in and whispered, "Better eat it or Mrs. Hudson will have a fit."

Sherlock took the fork and raised it to show his compliance. His stream of thought broken, he did his best to concentrate on taking a few bites of the sugary offering. But still, his mind wandered as he did.

His only hope was in seeing a rare smile form as Westley snuggled into his new owner's lap and quickly fell asleep. Sherlock caught the joy in Alex's eyes for a moment, and he took it as a sign that better times were perhaps on the way.

* * *

 

Answers weren't there.

He simply needed to begin to accept that fact. But Sherlock was nothing if not persistent. And he refused to believe that there were no answers. Such a belief would have been the end of him.

Wandering the room, he kept his eyes out for the telltale clues. They had to be here. They were here somewhere. He'd reviewed them regularly, and he knew these facts well enough. There were answers somewhere in these very walls.

He knelt and looked at a broken frame, trying his best to pull together the signs of what had happened just from the pieces of shattered glass.

"If anyone can do it it's you."

He spun around and eyed his companion with a good deal of scrutiny.

"Perhaps he's right. I've lost my touch," Sherlock muttered. "If this was a few years ago I'd be done with this case. But somehow…somehow this one lingers."

"You haven't."

Sherlock smiled and looked John over once more. "I just cannot piece it together. I've tried. I…I've never been more helpless before."

John stepped forward, reaching out to lay a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Put the facts together. You know you have it."

He turned back to the room, surveying it once more. The clues were all here. All he had to do was—

"Sherlock."

His eyes opened and he looked up to see Mycroft standing over him. Sherlock blinked a few times as he regathered his wits, taking in the familiar Baker Street flat he was sitting in.

"Not again," Mycroft sighed. "List please?"

He shook his head and pushed himself off of the sofa to stand. He put one hand to his temple.

"It's short," he said. "In fact, short enough I didn't write it down. Merely a few nicotine patches. Satisfied?"

Mycroft frowned. "Sherlock Holmes if you are lying to me I swear I will—"

"I'm not."

"Good. Because you can use all the clear-headedness you can muster. I'm afraid England needs your help, as ever."

"What's wrong this time?" Sherlock muttered.

The corners of Mycroft's mouth seemed to move impossibly lower. "Assassination."

His head jerked up. He was unsure if he'd heard his brother correctly. But another second's pause gave him time enough to be sure it was right.

"Of whom?"

Mycroft sighed.

"I'd assume it's someone important," Sherlock said. "Considering you're here in person rather than calling me."

Lips pursed. Sherlock might have celebrated both hitting the nail on the head and getting under his brother's skin, but the moment was too grave for either. He waited, deciding to just allow the words to be spoken, even if he could determine it himself with a little work.

"Three members of parliament."

"At the same time?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft shook his head. "No. I'm afraid not."

Oh this was good. Three separate killings that were somehow linked. Serial murders then. Perfect.

"Names? Details? Anything you can give me."

Mycroft sighed. "James Hartley, shot in the head while driving just two hours ago. Mathilda Hopkins, broken neck in her own home last night, found in the last half-hour. Samuel West, stabbed in the heart while in a public restroom sometime this morning."

"And any signs of the assassin himself?" Sherlock asked he paced over to the window, looking out as though hoping for signs of the killer himself. "Have the rest of the members of parliament been given protection?"

"Of course," Mycroft said, leaning a little further on his umbrella. "All accounted for. We're proceeding cautiously, but for now these terror attacks seem to be done. As for the culprit, there is no sign of him."

"Him?"

Mycroft sighed. "A name has been floating about. We'd ignored it up until this point…assumed it was nothing. Perhaps just another of Moriarty's aliases with Richard Brook and all that."

"And the name is?" Sherlock asked. "Why didn't you tell me all this before? I might have told you if it was an alias or not."

"Sebastian Moran," Mycroft said. "It seemed irrelevant at the time. But now…"

"And your information on this man? What leads you to believe it's him?" Sherlock asked. He went over to grab his coat, already aware that he was probably going to be dragged to the crime scenes to study these various corpses and look for further clues.

"We were told he was a highly trained assassin," Mycroft said. "Working for Moriarty."

Sherlock paused as he reached for his scarf, considering.

"But we gathered up all the main parts of his inner circle," Sherlock pointed out.

"Then he has somehow proved that even in destruction he can continue to find henchmen," Mycroft said with a sigh. "He proves himself less a spider and more a sea star…able to regenerate his many reaching arms. But you had already suspected this."

"Yes," Sherlock said. "He grows weaker. The endgame approaches. And he will have done well to prepare himself with only the best. This has been his plan all along. Perhaps I've only played as he wanted me to."

He closed his eyes for a moment, and before him stretched the chess board he always pictured when it came to Moriarty and the way they'd danced around each other over the years.

There were pieces to the side of course. Already removed from play. He looked at Irene's bishop piece and winced at the thought.

The black side seemed almost empty. At least compared to how it had started. Pawns lined the sides of the board. No longer in play. But there were still key components he needed to knock out. And for once, Sherlock wondered if Moriarty had simply pushed those pawns at him in order to keep him off track of dealing with the real targets. He eyed the black queen. Moran perhaps? Could he really have missed someone so key to the game?

His eyes opened and he withdrew from his mind palace. Mycroft was still looking at him, though there was no confusion on his face. He knew what Sherlock had been doing.

"To the crime scenes, brother dear?" Sherlock muttered.

"Yes. Though perhaps you'd like to mention to your sons why you've left the flat."

Sherlock nodded, sliding into his coat before heading to the stairs.

He rapped twice before Johann told him to come in.

Johann looked up as he opened the door, leaning back in his chair at the desk. Sherlock took a moment to glance at the subject occupying Johann's attention, and he was somewhat unsurprised when he found that it was history, his current favorite. Though he wondered how much attention was going to the study when the boy's computer was also opened up.

"Focusing on your studies?"

Johann's brow furrowed. "Looking into the Australian outback. For my own purposes of course."

Sherlock shook his head, distracted momentarily as he noticed that Alex was asleep in the middle of his bed, his face planted in a maths textbook.

He stalked closer to shake the teenager awake. With Alex's busy schedule, he couldn't afford to sleep during the middle of the day. But Sherlock's attention was diverted as he noted a strange marking on Alex's hand.

Something had been scribbled in ink. Slightly faded, but still somewhat visible. He could just barely make out numbers there. _121._

Brow furrowed, he leaned in closer to try to make out the smaller script below. But just as he was about to see it, Alex's hand drew back into his chest, and the boy stirred. Alex's forehead crinkled before his eyes cracked open.

"You ought to wake up," Sherlock said. "It's the middle of the afternoon. Molly's said you have quite a bit of homework, and a football match this week too if I'm not mistaken."

Alex pursed his lips before stretching his limbs out in all directions. He yawned and shook his head.

"I'm too tired. Just give me a few minutes and I'll be back to work."

Sherlock frowned, but he knew this was more Molly's area than his. If Alex was confident he could finish his schoolwork and be prepared for his sporting events, then Sherlock saw no reason he shouldn't be allowed to sleep.

Until Johann interrupted.

"It's your fault you were up late last night," Johann said. "Just because you and Thomas were shagging each other's brains out."

"What?" Sherlock said, though he was neither shocked by the indelicacies coming from Johann's mouth, nor the idea that Alex had been having relations. Both were already tendencies he was aware of. But still, he didn't remember Alex leaving last night, nor Molly saying anything about it.

Alex flushed. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Johann looked up from his desk triumphantly. "He went out last night and didn't tell you. Came back home all flushed. No point in lying, Alex. I know what you were up to."

Alex stared at his brother, eyes narrowing. Sherlock sighed and shook his head. This wasn't the time. Between Johann actually acting his age and tattling and Alex acting in some rebellious teenage phase, he couldn't handle it. There was too much to do right now. But even so, he felt his heart racing a little at the thought of Alex out at night, walking the London streets where he was already aware Moriarty and Moran were waiting.

"I don't have time for this at the moment," Sherlock said. "Mycroft has a case for me. But rest assured, Alex, I'll be telling Molly about this."

He watched both the boys scowl at one another before shaking his head and going to the door. He just needed to pull this together. Finish things off so he could actually have a spare moment to be a parent. As he greeted Mycroft downstairs, all he could think about was the pressing signs that he was already failing.

* * *

 

By the time he arrived home his head was spinning. Sherlock felt like he could hardly think anymore, after being shown three different crime scenes, all of which had yielded so few results that he didn't know where to begin. He'd kept a face on in front of Mycroft, but it was difficult to remain optimistic in light of so little evidence.

He trudged in through the door, closing and locking it behind him. With a soft sigh he reached up to rub his eyes, passing Mrs. Hudson's dark kitchen.

Up the old familiar stairs, mind still wandering as he did. Perhaps he should work longer. But was there really more he could do?

"Moran is only human," he whispered. "He'll have slipped up somehow. The answer is…how?"

He'd seen signs of course. Scattered bullets in the location the assassin had camped out; a few that had rolled into a corner to be missed when the others were picked up again…as though the killer had been nervous…hands shaking as he loaded the weapon. How else would such an amateur mistake be made?

His trail of thought broke off as he entered the bedroom. Molly was stretched out on her side, the bedside lamp she'd left on illuminating her. He eyed her face, smooth and untroubled in sleep.

There was the temptation to turn off the light and go back to the sitting room to work. But at the same time, Sherlock knew he couldn't do it. No. He needed some rest. A recharge for the serious work tomorrow. Besides, without knowing anything about the bodies there was little he could do.

He slipped off his shirt and trousers, kicking his shoes off. He slid into bed without bothering to pick up the garments still on the floor.

Molly stirred as the bed tilted beneath his weight. She blinked a few times, looking at him with a sense of sleepy confusion on her face.

"What time is it?"

"Late," Sherlock said. "I'm sorry I disturbed you. Mycroft had me out on a case."

She groaned and sat up a few centimeters, enough to be able to look at the clock. One hand came up to rub at her temple and eyes.

"God, it must have been important."

"Parliament members killed," Sherlock muttered. He sighed and rolled onto his side to look her in the eye. "Three of them. We suspect it's Moriarty."

She sat up a little more, frowning.

"Wait, Hartley and oh…what's her name…"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes, I looked them over," Molly said. "Was a bit late coming home myself after doing the post mortems."

Of course, Mycroft must have known it would be best to send them to Molly. Although, Sherlock suspected with the reputation Molly had gained in her field it might have just been normal enough for her to receive such high profile victims. Rush jobs that needed to be done quickly to satisfy the government and the public.

"Anything of interest?" he muttered. "I was told it was a shooting, a broken neck, and a stabbing."

Molly nodded. "Well…the shooting seemed quite unremarkable. Shot to the head. Perfect. He died quickly thank god. The broken neck was probably about the same…quick and calculated, done by hand from everything I can see. A sudden blow causing a cervical fracture. Whoever did it certainly knew where to hit. But it was the stabbing… there were…other wounds. Shallow cuts before the final one was struck."

Sherlock took that in. There were so many different conclusions that could be drawn though. Stabbing was more…personal. More difficult in some ways than just shooting a gun. But then again, so was breaking someone's neck…but perhaps the assassin had hesitated on that too. Perhaps Samuel West had been more difficult. The public setting…a struggle. Again, perhaps a place there might be more clues for him. He'd have to go back again tomorrow.

"Either way, they all died," Molly said with a sigh. "And they all came bearing the same marks."

"Marks?" Sherlock asked, frowning. Mycroft had mentioned nothing of this.

Molly stared at him for a moment. "Oh…I thought. Well…they all had letters written on them. Red paint."

Sherlock considered for a moment. There was something…odd about that. He had to place his finger on it. It took a second, and then he figured it out.

"What letters?"

Molly sighed. "Er…an O and a U…um…I think there was also an I."

Sherlock's mouth tightened as he discerned the meaning very quickly. I O U. Clever. Though not as clever as he might have expected. But still, there had to be a mistake somewhere.

"Even the sniper victim?"

Molly nodded, brow creasing. "That's true, I hadn't really thought much about him but he did actually have it…he…yes…on his face."

"Curious," Sherlock whispered, mind reeling. "So either the killer or an accomplice had to be near the body afterwards. This could be our key to catching him. The sniper shooting was the most public of deaths…perhaps someone or a camera saw him. Something, anything that could link him."

"Maybe," Molly said with a sigh. She moved closer, head coming down to rest on his shoulder. He brought a hand up to run through her hair, admiring how soft it was as always.

She relaxed into him, exhaling as she did, eyes closing. He murmured something nonsensical into her ear, watching as the tension completely unraveled.

"It's been a while," he said after a bit. "Perhaps…we ought to…?"

Her head moved minimally against his shoulder.

"No."

"You're sure?" he whispered. "We could…it might help us both relax."

"I'm fine." Her eyes opened again and she looked up at him pointedly. "I accept you as you are, Sherlock. You know that don't you? I don't need you to be something you're not."

"Of course not," he said with a frown.

"Then don't offer it like…like…like tea or something." She huffed. "It's not just something I want for comfort or destressing or anything like that. I'm happy, Sherlock. I love you, and that's what matters. That's always been what matters."

Molly moved in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

His eyes roamed back over her, taking in the well-defined contours of her face, those deep brown eyes and those lovely lips. He let his gaze dip lower, over pleasing curves just barely hidden beneath her pajamas. As per usual, nothing really _stirred_. But it had been a long time since he'd first done this sort of thing as a teenager. He no longer felt panicked that he was somehow _broken_ or _wrong_ or a… _freak._ He was simply different. And that was all right.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, Molly Hooper," he whispered, wrapping his arms a little tighter and delivering a squeeze.

Molly's smile brightened.

"You deserve me, Sherlock," she said leaning up to kiss him on the lips, chastely with just a brush of her mouth before pulling back. "You deserve…ten times more happiness than I can possibly give you. You deserve to wake up without fear and go on your cases knowing you're simply making the world a little better. You deserve to come home to a place you feel loved and cared for and…and understood. And if we have our way we'll build that world together."

He nodded and sighed. One of his fingers drifted down her cheek, tracing over it carefully. Perhaps he could memorize the details. He wanted that so much. To always have a perfect lifelike image of her in his head, just like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm really sorry for the melodrama of saying I wouldn't post any more until I finished it (for any of you who saw that). I swear, I'm working on being less sensitive, but I just am so bad at having confidence in myself and my works. The main thing is, I want to finish this story. So my one request is if you don't like the story to please just leave. I'm so close to the end.
> 
> You've probably noticed an increase of angst. Yes, that's only going to get worse. But I'm not a person who likes sad stories, so hang in there if you can. Better things are coming. Plus, in case I haven't mentioned it I'm happy to take oneshot requests of any fluffy adorableness you want when this is all over. Molly and Sherlock, or the boys, or anything else! You definitely deserve it for putting up with so much!
> 
> Thanks to all who commented!


	32. Thirty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sherlock and Mycroft discuss what must happen, Sherlock sets up a meeting, and Moran is finally revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Already anticipating some people freaking out over this chapter. Trust me readers! Trust me. I’m cruel, but not overly so. You will see! Also, most of this chapter was written to [Addicted to a Certain Lifestyle](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zizPQiUdLg) so if you’re in a mood to make this extra angsty listen to that!

“It’s time,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

Sherlock folded his hands behind his back, looking out at Baker Street.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft said, louder this time. “You’ve surely planned an endgame by now.”

He frowned. “I don’t have all the pieces I need.”

There was a louder exhale from behind him. Sherlock had a mental image of Mycroft rubbing his temples.

“We cannot afford to have any more killings,” Mycroft said. “The cost has been great enough already.”

“Cost? Afford?” Sherlock muttered. “This isn’t one of your budget meetings in the government, Mycroft.”

“Precisely,” Mycroft said. “These are human lives we’re dealing with. And though I don’t care all too much for random members of parliament and movie stars and members of the press and millionaires…I have seen the strain this has had on our country.”

Sherlock remained still, eyes focused on the sidewalk, waiting for any sign of movement. Baker Street was quiet. Dead.

“And on your family,” Mycroft added.

Sherlock stiffened, turning his head enough to regard his brother.

“And what can you mean by that?” Sherlock said, voice sharp.

Mycroft smiled, though there was no joy in it. “Surely you’re not blind, Sherlock. Even with the little time I spend around them I’ve seen the signs. Molly begins to tremble when I bring her a new body. Though Alexander turned down the offer to work for Intelligence, he has yet to express any clear plan for his future. Tell me, brother, aren’t medical school applications due soon? Pity I haven’t seen any sent in from him yet. And as for Johann…other than the occasional call to me, I believe he spends most of his time either locked in his bedroom or at the library.” He paused for a moment. “Oh but I’m sure you’re right…your family seems absolutely _peachy_.”

Sherlock swallowed, doing his best to allow his face to remain impassive, even as he took in the facts. He’d seen these things, of course. But he’d been trying to ignore them. Pretending it wasn’t real when he came home to see Molly watching the news with a hollow expression on her face, or Alex’s latest grades dropping, or Johann’s closed bedroom door that didn’t open through two meals.

But it was time to stop pretending. Mycroft was right, for once.

“I’ll put together a plan,” Sherlock said.

“And you’ll tell me it?” Mycroft asked, brow raised.

He nodded, though his calculations had already led him to believe that there was no way that Mycroft could be involved. Moriarty would know. And he wouldn’t show his face unless it was Sherlock alone. The same as it had been back on St. Bart’s rooftop. The two of them alone.

“Yes, of course. Now don’t you have paperwork to fill out or something? You’re wasting my time.”

He waited until he heard the door close. Sherlock looked to the window again, watching as Mycroft disappeared into a dark car that had only just appeared. His brother drove off, and he was left alone once more. Ready for the future. Ready to finish the game.

His hand drifted to his phone. The words were already playing out in his mind. There were enough ways to say it. But he had to find the right one.

“I don’t have all the pieces,” he whispered again.

And he didn’t. But Mycroft did have a point about cost. How much was this worth…ending things? Stopping the destruction before it could get any further.

He tapped out a message and stared at it for a moment. His finger hovered over the send button. Waiting. Thinking.

Was it right?

_Call off your dog. It’s me you want_. _-SH_

After a long pause, he finally sent it, swallowing as he turned the screen off and tucked the thing back in his pocket. Now all there was to do was wait.

* * *

 

 

It took 24 hours. Sherlock couldn’t say he was surprised. Though he was certain Moriarty had a plan, the man probably needed time to put it into place.

But he hadn’t anticipated the possibility of Molly sitting next to him reading when the text came in.

His phone buzzed. It took him a moment, thinking it might be something from Lestrade. But instead, that familiar name greeted his sights, and he felt his heart begin to pound as he opened the message.

_Settle this man to man then? You ready Sherlock?_

He nodded before tapping in his response.

_Yes_. _Let’s end this_.

Molly glanced over, eyes narrowing.

“Who’s that from?” she asked.

“No one,” Sherlock said. “It’s not important.”

His phone vibrated again. He looked down to see the latest message, so engrossed that he hardly noticed Molly slipping a few centimeters closer.

_I’ll text you the location later. I can’t wait to see you._

Molly gasped and pulled away.

“Is that him? Are you…meeting with him?!?” she demanded.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, tucking his phone away. There was no point in lying. Not anymore. “It will be over soon.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

“No. You can’t go alone. I’m coming with you.”

Sherlock snorted and turned his head away. “No. You’re not. You’ll stay here where I know you’re safe. I’m not risking your life like that.”

Molly folded her arms, though it was hard for Sherlock to tell if she’d been hurt or was simply angry. Either way, this was one issue where he wouldn’t back down. Molly might be able to argue her way to some ends, but this was not one of them.

“You’re not coming,” Sherlock said again before she could speak. “I won’t have your life in danger. Now, I’m going out for a few hours. I have preparations to make.”

“You don’t even know where you’re meeting,” Molly pointed out with a frown.

Sherlock shrugged. “I have my ideas. And besides, that’s not the important thing. The important thing is to try to have as much prepared as I can given what I know.”

He stood up and went to grab his coat. Molly sighed behind him. The sound made him pause.

“What?”

He spun around to find her on her feet as well. Her arms were folded across her chest.

“I wish you wouldn’t always take this approach, Sherlock. The… ‘me alone against the world’ attitude. I was with you the last time you faced Moriarty.”

“The last time I faced Moriarty he’d forgotten about you,” Sherlock said. “I’m quite sure he won’t have this time. John wasn’t allowed with me if you recall. It’s the same as that.”

“You nearly lost John because of it,” Molly pointed out. “You weren’t here for two years. You didn’t see him. He...please Sherlock. Don’t make this into an excuse.”

He froze at the mere thought. _Nearly lost John_. Oh Molly.

His eyes closed, momentarily trying to pull together his last few thoughts, piece back together the hard shell that normally did so well at protecting his emotions. No, this couldn’t be happening. He needed to remain strong.

“I’m coming,” Molly said again. “You’re not talking me out of it.”

Sherlock opened his eyes again and stared at her. There was a moment where he attempted to put up a mask, but in an instant his efforts were undone.

“I can’t lose you,” he said, barely managing to choke out the last word. “I’m not like you, Molly.”

“Not like me how?” Molly asked, jaw clenching.

“I’m not…not strong enough,” Sherlock whispered.

Her face softened. “Strong enough?”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t do it.”

She walked forward, pausing a step away from him and staring up into his face. One hand reached up to rest on his shoulder. He allowed the familiar weight, looking into her eyes and searching for answers there. Reassurance. Comfort. Anything. Whatever it took to put him back together.

“You’re Sherlock Holmes,” Molly said. “And I know you’ll win. You can’t lose hope now.”

He swallowed.

“I haven’t.”

“Good,” she whispered. Her smile brightened a little, though he still felt it didn’t create the same warmth in her eyes that it used to. He wondered if her smile could ever return to what it had once been.

“I have hope,” Sherlock said. “Hope to come home to you. And Johann. And Alex. To our home. To this place we’ve made together. And Molly I cannot lose you if I am to have that hope. Do you understand?”

Molly sighed. “Please, Sherlock. Just tell me when and where you’re going. Anything. I…I can’t do this.”

He thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Fine. Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow evening you can come with me. But I warn you, I’ll have you leave at the first sign of danger.”

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will. But you’re not getting rid of me so easy.”

He watched as she picked up her book and moved towards the bedroom. It was only eight, but he knew she had an early morning shift. A few more hours and she’d be going to bed. She was a sound enough sleeper he wasn’t worried. By the time she realized he was lying, it would be too late.

* * *

 

 

_Molly’s lab. Barts. Meet me in 30 minutes._

He’d suspected this would be the way of it. No time to prepare. That was how Moriarty wanted it, him helpless against whatever traps the man had set. Perhaps it was foolish to walk in so unprepared. But he knew it was time. There was no more point delaying the inevitable.

The light went out in the bedroom. Sherlock steadied himself. Both the boys had long since disappeared. Alex off to a friend’s, Johann back into the depths of his room. After just a few minutes he would be free to leave without worrying about any of his family being in danger.

After a moment of silence, he finally went to grab his coat and scarf. He knotted the fabric firmly around his neck, wondering for the first time if this would perhaps be what he’d be found dead in…was this really the end?

He was only stopped when his foot nearly collided with Westley going towards the stairs.

Sherlock sighed and stopped to give the creature a small pet. Westley bristled a bit under his touch, but finally let out a soft mew.

“Take care of them,” he whispered. “Alex especially. You’ll be good to him, won’t you? He really needs you.”

The cat let out a soft rumbling purr, arching a little more to enjoy the petting. Sherlock nodded and pulled his hand away. It was time for goodbyes. If there were to be any.

He looked round the sitting room at Baker Street, glancing towards the familiar chairs, the smiley face on the wall, and his violin set to the side. Old familiar things. But there were also the newer additions. Molly’s books on one shelf. A family portrait Mrs. Hudson had insisted on snapping sitting on the mantle. Alex’s earphones on the coffee table. Johann’s jumper over the back of the sofa, football boots to the side of the door. A thousand small sad little reminders of what he was leaving behind.

Sherlock managed to turn his back to it. There was no point in continuing to regret, only a reason to remind himself what he had to lose.

* * *

 

 

Barts was mostly dark. A few doctors and nurses still scurrying about. He walked with purpose towards the door he wanted, already looking into the dark room with awareness that this was right. Molly’s lab, as Moriarty must have known, was empty.

Sherlock pushed through those familiar doors. He surveyed the room, eyeing the usual assembly of chemicals and equipment. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. But still…there could be a bomb or some other device of Moriarty’s own planning hidden out of sight. Sherlock would put nothing past him at this point.

He stalked over to the middle of the room, brushing past the microscope he so often hunched over.

There was a moment of silence. A few seconds for him to breathe. For him to think.

And then the door squeaked open behind him, and Sherlock turned to see a man in the doorway.

A brawny man in black, clipped hair, a gun in his hands. And then behind him, of course, came the sauntering criminal himself, smile in place as he walked into the room.

“Hi,” Moriarty said, grin never fading. He tucked his hands into his pants pockets, surveying Sherlock with mirth written all over his face.

“So good to see you, Sherlock. Just _lo-ove_ what you’ve done with the place. Looks good.” He made a small half circle to examine the room. “Did you like the place I chose? Think it was fitting?”

“Where we first met,” Sherlock muttered. “Appropriate I suppose.”

“Mmm,” Moriarty said, eyes flicking back to Sherlock. “Back as cute little ‘Jim from IT’…back with you and Molly…” he licked his lips. “The place where you met her too isn’t it? And John? Perfect little place to arrange our little _chat_.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Sherlock asked, eyes leveled on the gun in the other man’s hands. “And I suppose this must be Moran. And here I thought we’d agreed to chat man to man. No dogs needed.”

Moriarty chuckled and shook his head before making a tisking sound.

“Disappointing as ever, Sherlock,” he said. “Did you think I’d be that _obvious_? This…Moran? No, he’s just here to ensure you behave. He’s no one really. As for dogs…well I’ll call mine off if you call yours. Your _bitch_ that is.”

Sherlock frowned, until he noted that Moriarty had stepped away from the door, only to see the shadowed figure in the glass. He felt himself tense up as he watched the door open and then Molly was peering in.

“Sherlock?” she whispered, only to have the gun pointed at her. She raised her hands, revealing she had a small pistol as well. Sherlock couldn’t say he’d seen it before, but somehow the sight didn’t surprise him. She’d seemed nervous lately. It was logical she’d want to protect herself.

“Do come in, Molly,” Moriarty purred. “We were just talking about you, weren’t we?”

Molly set the gun down as Moriarty’s henchman seemed to indicate. Moriarty gave it a kick that sent it under one of the cabinets.

Sherlock cursed and moved forward just in time to catch Molly when she rushed at him.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” he demanded.

Molly sighed. “I put a tracking device on your phone. Honestly, for the most brilliant detective in the world you’re pretty unobservant sometimes.”

“Whatever happened to trust in a relationship?” Sherlock said under his breath.

“I could say the same to you, given you lied to me,” Molly said, hand squeezing his tightly, even as she glanced back at Moriarty.

“I’m sorry, should we come back?” Moriarty asked, tilting his head to the side. “Leave you two to your little… _domestic_? Aren’t you too just adorable with all your coupley drama…” He rolled his eyes.

Sherlock sighed. “I’m sorry, go on with your evil plot. Where were you? Being disappointed in me I believe?”

“Not hard now a days,” Moriarty said with another curving smile. “You’ve lost your touch, Sherlock. You’re just…no fun anymore. Absolutely pathetic.” He glanced at the man to his side. “He really is a cute little picture isn’t he? What you probably expected when you found out about Moran. But then, I don’t think you realized that I’m going to let Moran kill you.”

Sherlock though he heard Molly’s breath catch, but even so he ignored her in favor of focusing on his enemy.

“Kill me? Too afraid to get your hands dirty?” Sherlock asked, head tilting.

Moriarty’s dark eyes were focused on him again, maniac smile ever widening.

“I told you I’d kill you one day, Sherlock. I did. And I meant it. But if you’ll remember…I promised I’d save it. Make it special. See…at this point it is. I’ve made it special. Found the best way to kill you. And really…it came down not to how…but to who.”

“And this ideal executioner of yours…am I to meet him then?” Sherlock asked.

The armed man stepped away from the door again. Molly shrank into his side, and Sherlock ran a comforting hand along her arm, even as he tried his best to gain what knowledge he could of his approaching executioner.

But nothing could prepare him for the door opening. He couldn’t have anticipated his breath catching and his world slowing to a stop as Moran stepped through the door.

Moriarty glanced back.

“Just in time. I was just explaining my choice of you to Sherlock, though by now I’m sure he’s already figured out what made you the perfect candidate for the job. Come in then, kitten. Let’s finish this.”

The door swung closed, and Alex took two more steps into the room, hands tight on a gun, gaze fixed on Sherlock, his grim expression never wavering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok so shorter chapter than normal, but that’s because the next one is finished and you will get it sometime tomorrow! I’m anticipating some shock at the cliffhanger. But seriously, unless something weird happens…you’ll find out what happens very soon. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's commented, subscribed, bookmarked, kudoed etc. All your support keeps me going!
> 
> Come chat with me on [Tumblr](http://elsarenard.tumblr.com/)


	33. Thirty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the final events culminate, questions are answered, and tough decisions are made. (did you think I'd give you a real summary of what was happening? just read it and find out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up not being able to wait a day...I know I'm so impatient. Also I decided I'd probably be too worn out from work tomorrow so this is better today.
> 
> Warnings for: (this will be a spoiler) violence and death. Definitely more angst. Things will get better!

“Sebastian Moran,” Moriarty said. “Though I believe you have a different name you use for him.”

“Alex,” Molly whispered.

“I’m afraid I no longer use that name,” Alex muttered, brow furrowing some. His eyes never strayed to Molly, fixed instead on his target.

Sherlock’s mind was still reeling, trying to put together the pieces. How had he missed this? How could he possibly have missed this?

After a moment it came to him. When had everything changed? Truly? The answer was there.

“France,” he said softly.

Alex lowered his gun a fraction of an inch.

“Not anything to do with your boyfriend then,” Sherlock said. “A summer…a whole summer for Moriarty to train you how he wanted.”

“Daddy’s finally catching on,” Moriarty said with a grin. “Took you long enough, Sherlock. Me and my pet have had so much time together thanks to your obliviousness.”

He reached out a hand, one finger tracing down Alex’s cheek. Sherlock felt numb as he noticed that Alex didn’t bother to recoil from Moriarty’s touch.

“Can I finish this now, please?” Alex asked. “I’ve been waiting long enough. Allow me to kill him.”

Molly tensed beside him. “And will you kill me too?” she managed to ask, even as her voice wavered.

“I’m afraid I don’t care much what happens to you, Molly,” Moriarty said with a wave of his hand. “But pet is eager to prove himself….finish the great detective. Only the best to add to his personal list. I imagine one day it will rival his mother’s. But that’s a psychopath for you. Proud of him, aren’t you Sherlock? Your sweet little killer you raised.”

Those words seemed to spill open boxes within his memory. Thousands of recollections of Alex as a child, playing and smiling. Excited by pirates and dinosaur books and so eager to curl into Sherlock’s lap and enjoy simple attention.

But _they_ were there too.

Alex’s purposeful injuries to players in football. His interest in finding new ways to kill living things. His intense love of guns that had only seemed to escalate. The look in his eyes when someone made him angry. Had the sweetness only been a mask?

Moriarty had planned this. He always had. Sherlock’s mind was on their first meeting all together. _One you can even train to your liking_. Yes, this had been the plan all along.

But had Sherlock truly done this? Truly brought up a child that would be the next Moriarty?

“Step aside, Molly,” Sherlock murmured. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her hand tightened in his. “If you think for one second that I’m going to let you go to your death without putting up a fight, then you’re completely wrong,” Molly whispered.

He looked at her, noting the tears that were spilling in spite of her clear resolution to hide them. She was staring at him, and he knew she was right. She would never back away from him. Not now.

“Step away,” Alex said, raising his gun again. “He’s right, Molly. This isn’t about you.”

There was something in his voice. Sherlock had begun to try to push Molly away, only to catch it. Years enough had given him some idea of nuances in his children’s voices. And of course, while he knew he’d been unobservant for the past few years, he was paying attention now. Alex was finally getting what he should have all those years before. Someone who was really truly _listening_. And Sherlock heard what his words didn’t say.

It took a few seconds. And then he could see it. Like the curtains had been opened. And there was no hiding anymore with what he knew.

“No,” Sherlock said. “She won’t step away. But I know you won’t kill her, Alex.”

He glanced away from Molly and back at his son, noting the flash that went through those normally tender blue eyes.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he said. “Twelve is greater than one. I knew there was something about that. And you are right…twelve lives for the price of one isn’t a bad deal.”

Alex’s throat bobbed once.

“I thought initially Sebastian was Shakespearian,” Sherlock said. “A villain if I remember anything. But then I realized….Johann Sebastian. You picked your name with a reminder hidden in it…one to remind you of how much you love your brother…Molly…those you hold dear. And Moran…clever. Close to Morstan…just like your mother.”

“But without the saint,” Alex murmured. “Because I have realized I’m like my mother.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Because you want to save her too, Alex. Because you know you cannot possibly allow twelve people to die when one bullet could save them.”

The gun lowered again, blue eyes going wide.

“You knew. This whole time you _knew_?” Alex gasped. “How long?”

Sherlock sighed. “About a year after they disappeared. I was looking over the footage again…and the clues came together.”

“You never told me,” Alex whispered. “Why? Why did you never tell me?”

“I thought we’d have them home by now,” Sherlock said softly, blinking a few times and hoping that the tears that were there would go away. “I thought by now they’d be safe…”

“Wait…” Molly’s voice came from behind him. “Wait…are you saying…”

Sherlock glanced at her.

“I told you he had cards yet to play,” he said. “I told you there were reasons I didn’t kill him when he hurt our son.”

He thought back to that night, the scar that still glinted on Johann’s cheek. But he had known even then that without more time he couldn’t possibly hope to learn where John and Mary were. They’d be lost forever.

Moriarty giggled from the side.

“While this chat has been _adorable_ , I think the main point is that Alex knows that if he doesn’t pull that trigger he’ll never see his mummy and daddy again…isn’t that right, kitten?”

Alex closed his eyes for a second before the gun raised again. When he looked at Sherlock again, there were indeed tears in his eyes.

“Don’t you understand?” he whispered.

“Of course,” Sherlock said. “They’re your parents. You still love them and want them home. And Molly...and Johann. Mrs. Hudson. Lestrade. Your aunts and uncles. Surely they mean something to you. You’re no psychopath, Alex. Not truly. You act to protect those you love.”

Sherlock finally managed to pull Molly’s hand from his, moving a step away from her.

“You are right, Alex. Twelve is more important than one,” he said softly. “I was prepared to die for your father years ago. And I still am. For us…for our family…broken and lost as it is.”

He raised his hands slightly. This was the right thing to do. He knew that, just as he’d known it before. Moriarty had cornered him.

“Do it,” Sherlock whispered. “Use your good aim and end it for me.”

He could hear Molly’s voice, but whatever words she was saying he tuned out. He focused on the gun being raised; Alex’s terrified eyes fixed on him. Sherlock steeled himself, waited. It would only be a few seconds before the bullet pierced him. He would die quickly, mercifully.

And then Alex lowered the gun.

“I can’t,” he whispered, hanging his head.

Moriarty’s eyes were shining. He nodded to the henchman, who promptly raised his own weapon and pointed it at Molly.

“How about now?” Moriarty sneered. “Or is our kitten still a little too shy? I’ll kill them all then you know…. If that’s what you really want. Mummy and daddy’s brains splattered across the walls. What a pretty picture that would make.”

Alex still hadn’t tried to put his weapon back up. He looked at Sherlock hesitantly, mind clearly working to put together a solution.

“I will always love you, Alex,” Sherlock said. “No matter what you decide. I’m sorry I failed you…I’m sorry I failed all of you.”

The tip of the gun seemed to move minimally upwards. Sherlock watched, knowing that neither choice was ideal.

His eyes closed. It was over now. Either way, his own death or the deaths of those he loved. He should have found something better. He should have been stronger…

Until he heard the sound of the door opening again.

Sherlock raised his head, just in time to see Johann sprinting through.

“Alex, don’t!” Johann screamed. “No! They’re safe! They’re all safe!”

The older boy immediately let his weapon drop again, turning to stare at his brother.

“What?”

“They’re safe,” Johann panted. “Mary and John. Mycroft’s team is extracting them now. Moriarty’s men are dead. Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Aunt Harry and everyone else…they’re all being watched. It’s fine. We’re safe!”

“How on earth did you—” Sherlock began, before realizing that he had absolutely no time to discover the particulars. He’d interrogate Johann at a later time. So long as they lived through everything.

Moriarty’s head tilted to the side. His dark eyes had fixated on Johann for a moment, but Molly soon had him pulled up against her, safely tucked away from the criminal’s gaze. And then Moriarty’s stare returned to Sherlock and he began a slow clap.

“Well played. Really. Quite well done,” he said. “Except…there’s one teensy tiny problem,” he said, and then looked quizzically to the side as though he were thinking about it. “Oh, that’s right…I have all four of you cornered here. All of you, ready to die.”

He reached for the gun in the other man’s hand. Sherlock pushed both Molly and Johann behind him as Moriarty leveled the gun at him.

“Well, you know what they say, Sherlock. If you want a job done right…you’ve just got to do it yourself. Tooteloo.”

Sherlock braced himself, pushing Molly just a little further back as the gun pointed at his chest.

Everything became a blur. A gun went off. He heard Molly scream and then blood was spewing everywhere. He had no time to even begin to process before there was a second shot and then Alex crying out and then a third.

He managed to focus enough to see that there were now three bodies on the ground.

Moriarty had blood steadily pooling beneath his head, a bright red wound gaping in his forehead. The other man was likewise dead, though he appeared to have been shot in the chest with a smaller gun in his hand, one he’d clearly pulled out at the last second. But the real trouble came for Sherlock when he realized that it was Alex who had also crumpled, hand to his chest where his shirt was steadily turning a gruesome shade of crimson.

“Alex!” Johann yelled, pushing past Sherlock to move to his brother.

Sherlock was torn for a moment, between going to Alex to help him and seeing to Moriarty. After all, the last head wound had been faked…and though he wanted to trust Alex’s aim, he had to be certain.

Seeing that Molly had moved over to help put pressure on the wound, he grabbed Alex’s dropped weapon and went over to examine.

The wound left him with few doubts. But for good measure he moved the barrel of the gun down and centered on the place where his heart should lie. It took him a moment of hesitation before he finally pulled the trigger.

Feeling certain the criminal was dead, and not caring enough to examine the henchman, Sherlock quickly moved in to see how Alex was doing.

Wound to the shoulder that Molly was currently keeping good pressure on while she coached Alex on staying relaxed.

“We have to get him to a doctor,” Molly said, looking up at him with wide eyes. “I can’t do much for him here without the proper equipment.”

“On it,” Johann said, moving to grab his phone out of his pocket.

“Someday, you’ll tell me how you managed to save them,” Sherlock murmured to his son. “But for now, all I can say is thank you. I should have had more trust in you…in all of you,” he said looking down at Alex.

The teenager gave a small smile, but he soon began to pale as the blood loss caught up with him.

“Alex,” Molly whispered. “Stay with us.”

Blue eyes seemed to lose focus. He blinked a few times, but gradually his eyes closed, and they didn’t reopen.

“No,” Sherlock said. “No…Alex…”

He couldn’t breathe. The world seemed to be closing in on him. He hardly noticed there were other people entering the room. It wasn’t until he was being pushed aside by an EMT that he realized.

Molly sobbed as Alex was loaded onto a gurney. Sherlock found himself pulling her into an embrace, even as he continued to watch in horror.

 _It’s over_ , he kept thinking. But at what cost?

“They’re taking him to A and E,” Johann said. “But I’ve already been told they’ll probably put him right into surgery. There’s no point following. We won’t be allowed in.”

Sherlock squeezed Molly a little tighter. “We can still go wait to hear what happens. But I’m willing to do that if you two need some rest. Go home if need be.”

Johann sighed and shook his head. “Dad, I’ve had two energy drinks. I can’t possibly sleep. I’ll come wait with you both, unless mum needs to go home.”

Molly shook her head, a few tears trickling down her cheeks, but otherwise appearing to be in a relative state of calm.

He looked at Johann, moving to lay a hand on his shoulder too.

“We’ll go wait together then,” he said. “We should know in a few hours whether…”

He couldn’t form the words. It was impossible for them to leave his mouth. He simply tightened his grip on the two of them.

“While I would love to wait…” Johann said hesitantly. “I do need to go make a few calls about John and Mary. I want to make sure their transport goes well. But I’ll be back.”

Sherlock surveyed him for a moment, marveling at how grown up he could seem given how young he really was. Would Johann ever be a normal child? He doubted it. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been one either. But he had to hope there was still a chance. After everything they’d been through…he had to hold onto the belief that they could still make it work.

* * *

 

 

It was several hours before he and Molly were finally given the news. They had sat in the waiting room together, Molly’s head on his shoulder while Sherlock did his best to read other occupants waiting, doing his best to use his observation skills even as his mind wandered.

“Mr. Holmes?”

He looked up to see a nurse with a clipboard. Though he could tell many things about her (that she was unmarried and had five cats), it was impossible to discern her expression.

“The doctor will see you now,” she said.

Sherlock stood shakily, weaving his hand into Molly’s before she could even ask. He pulled her along after him, wandering down the hallway until they came to a small room.

Sherlock’s eyes fell to the bed, immediately coming to rest on Alex.

The teenager was resting, eyes closed, even as his chest rose and fell in steady motions, the heart monitor steadily beeping beside him. There were bandages on his shoulder, and he looked far too pale, but otherwise it was obvious that the operation had been successful.

“He should be fine,” the doctor confirmed. “We removed the bullet and stitched him back up. He’ll probably need some therapy afterwards to recover full use of his shoulder, but we have high hopes that everything should go back to normal. Please feel free to call me with any questions.”

Sherlock nodded, only half listening. Most of his attention had focused on the metal cuff on Alex’s right wrist, effectively keeping him tethered to the hospital bed.

“Thank you,” Molly said, nudging Sherlock to get him to mutter the same, even though he felt there were more important things that needed to be done.

“He should come to any time now,” the doctor advised. She gave a small smile. “I’ll be just down the hall checking on another patient.”

She disappeared out the door, leaving them a moment alone.

“Oh Alex,” Molly whispered weakly, moving to his side to stroke a hand along his face. “How could we have missed this, Sherlock?”

He sighed, bringing a hand to his temple to rub there in hopes of finding an answer. There had been signs. Constant signs. And both of them had ignored it. Or chalked it up to stress or other factors. But they had been wrong.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said. “But there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

Molly’s eyes closed and she nodded.

Sherlock put his own hand on Alex’s, watching for any kind of a response. When there was none he took a seat, keeping his hand on his son’s. Molly sat beside him, head coming to rest on her shoulder.

They weren’t sitting long before the door opened again. Sherlock looked up, expecting the doctor or a nurse, but instead discovering his brother. He huffed and sank back in his seat.

“What do you want?” he asked.

Mycroft gave a wry smile. “Oh don’t pretend you don’t need me right now. You clearly do, brother. Do you know what the penalty for these assassinations would be?”

Sherlock frowned but remained silent.

“Please tell me you’ll do something,” Molly whispered. “Please. We can’t lose him. He has so much more life to live. It was Moriarty’s fault. He brainwashed him…made him think that he had to kill people to save us.”

“He was probably tortured,” Sherlock agreed, thinking back to the marks on Alex’s wrist that had so casually been dismissed as kinky sex. Of course, he should have seen the signs then. What a fool he’d been.

“If we give him the excuse of being tortured, we give every Moriarty follower and supporter the same,” Mycroft pointed out with a sigh. “I promise you, Sherlock, that I will do what I can. But it is very unlikely I can actually make a difference at this point. He made his choices. And he will face consequences, I guarantee that.”

Sherlock swallowed and sat back, though he didn’t let his hand slip from his son’s. He wasn’t going to leave the boy alone. Especially now. He’d been alone for far too long.

“Moriarty’s body?”

“Checked over by several doctors. He’s dead. And we will have the body cremated,” Mycroft said. “He’ll be gone for good this time.”

“And John and Mary?”

“They will be here late tomorrow. We put them on the first available flight,” Mycroft said.

“And did you know where they were?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft sighed. “All Johann would tell me was that he was looking for someone important to the Moriarty network. And just today he finally informed me whom we were extracting. I must say, that boy of yours is going to do brilliant things. I’m beginning to think he might even be smarter than me.”

Sherlock was unable to keep from smirking at the thought.

“Until he returns, I’ll leave you to settle your affairs,” Mycroft said. “I don’t know that there’s much left for you to do though. I think Lestrade and I have things mostly under control. For the moment, I think it would probably be best if you and Molly both remained here with your son.”

Sherlock nodded. “Until John arrives.”

“Of course,” Mycroft said with a roll of his eyes. “I know you wouldn’t miss that. Now, do see to Alexander. I’ll be back in a bit when more things are cleared up.”

He stepped back to the door, leaving Sherlock alone to his thoughts again. He let his hand drift up to Alex’s uninjured shoulder, squeezing lightly. He heard Molly sigh, eyes closing again, leaning her head in one hand.

“Sleep,” he told her. “I’ll tell you if Alex wakes.”

Molly gave a slight nod before her head drooped some more. Within a minute her chest was rising and falling in a steady gentle rhythm, her face smoothed over in the expression of sleep. Sherlock nodded her way before settling into his post beside their son.

“I’ll be here when you wake,” he whispered. 

* * *

 

 

His eyes were open.

It took Sherlock a moment to see it. To really see it. To understand that it was happening.

Blue eyes were swiveling around the room, blond eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.

“What happened?” he whispered.

Sherlock sat up straighter and nudged Molly.

“You’re in the hospital,” Sherlock said. “You were shot in the process of killing Moriarty, taking a bullet to the shoulder that required you to be entered here for its removal and your care.”

“How are you feeling?” Molly whispered, stretching some before turning a concerned look at Alex.

The boy grimaced. “Not so good. But it’s all right. Sort of.”

He tried to lift his hand, only to frown at the cuff on it.

“Ah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock commented. “You’ve been detained. I believe after you’ve recovered enough you will be taken in for questioning and formally arrested for the…well…you understand I’m sure.”

Alex closed his eyes again and nodded.

“Yes. I do. And for now?”

“For now rest,” Molly whispered, moving up to smooth the hair out of his eyes. “Is there anything we can get for you?”

Alex sighed, shaking his head.

“We’ll solve this,” Sherlock murmured.

There was a pause before Alex opened his eyes again. He frowned.

“Why are you even here? Don’t you understand? I betrayed you. You shouldn’t be here with me. You should be taking care of Johann…making sure everything else is all right. I’ll be just fine.”

Sherlock leaned in, making eye contact and holding it.

“Alex,” he said. “You’re my son. And maybe you don’t realize what that means…but for me it means I’m not abandoning you. It means that I love you and I will stick by you no matter what.”

“We understand,” Molly added. “You were in a tough spot with everything that was going on. And I know how persuasive and confusing Jim can be when he sets his mind to it. Neither of us is saying you did the right thing. We both know that killing is wrong and that Moriarty is evil…but we still love you. We will always love you. Nothing can ever change that.”

A tear rolled down one of Alex’s cheeks.

“I didn’t know what to do,” he whispered.

“You were put in a difficult position,” Sherlock said, reaching down to squeeze Alex’s hand again. This time Alex squeezed back. “We know that. But no matter what happens we’re still a family.”

Alex let out a choked sob and Sherlock was incapable of restraining himself. He quickly moved from his chair reaching to pull Alex to him in a loose hug, doing his best to avoid the injured shoulder.

“I killed people,” Alex bit out.

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock responded. “But so have I. So has John…and Mary.” He glanced at Molly curiously. He’d never thought her to be the type, but he wasn’t sure.

“I’ve wanted to,” Molly confessed. “It’s come close. If you hadn’t killed Moriarty I certainly would have. You’re not alone, Alex. All of us make bad choices. You’re going to work through this. If your father and I can, we’ll…we’ll get you therapy again. I’m sure Mary will have plenty to say to you when she gets home too. She’ll have advice.”

“Will they be able to look at me?” Alex asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “Your father is the most caring man I’ve ever met. And your mother has no right to judge your sins when you know hers. We all have a past, Alex. We all have mistakes we’ve made that haunt us…”

Alex closed his eyes again, breathing steadying some, though Sherlock could still make out a few fresh tears on his face.

Sherlock was surprised when Alex struggled to sit up more, but he quickly figured it out, wrapping his arms more tightly around the boy, thinking back to days when he’d done this to sooth the boy from nightmares or irrational fears. But now this was real. And he couldn’t just say “there there” and be done with it.

“No matter what happens,” Sherlock whispered, feeling Molly’s hand on his back as she did her best to join the hug. “I’ll always be here for you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m going to just go ahead and address what I’ve been criticized in the past for; if you found this unbelievable…sorry just go read something else. I don’t want to hear about it. I’m done writing and can’t go back and change it. I feel like with a show that has had multiple characters fake their deaths…well this wouldn’t be all that out of the question. Anyhow, hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> Also want to make it clear I’m not excusing Alex for what he’s done. Killing people is wrong. And he did make a choice. I’ll leave it up to you to decide what you think of him in the end.
> 
> Also, I do have plans for a oneshot from Alex’s point of view of what happened in France (or well some of it at least), and I would like to do something with Johann’s crazy planning. If those are things you’re interested in reading let me know and they might get put on the list. 
> 
> Thank you for all the amazing freaked out comments. They made my day!


	34. Thirty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a long awaited plane arrives, Sherlock makes an important choice, and Alex's fate is decided.

Sherlock felt a sense of déjà vu as he stood waiting on the tarmac. He glanced up at the blue skies overhead, watching as the small dot of a plane continued to approach. In a matter of minutes, he’d be face to face with his best friend again.

Mycroft sighed and glanced at his watch. He motioned to the driver, who started the limo up again.

“Right on schedule. And have you figured out how to break the news that their son is a mass murderer yet?” Mycroft asked, a sneer curling on his face.

“No,” Sherlock said, pursing his lips. “But isn’t it your job to fix this, brother dear? Why aren’t you off getting him pardoned or something?”

“Ah, the smartest detective in the world, yet still so naïve as to its workings, brother mine,” Mycroft said with the slightest smirk. “I assure you, I’ve worked something out. At this point, it’s up to Alex to decide.”

“To decide what?” Sherlock asked, frowning, only to be interrupted as he noted the plane was beginning its descent.

Mycroft sighed and looked towards him again.

“I know I’ve been critical of you,” he said. “But you have done quite well, you know. All I’ve ever done has been to protect you. I know now you need me to help Alex, and I’m doing the best that I can. Understand that if I had anything else to offer I would. But as of right now, only he can fix things.”

“You did it then?” Johann asked, looking up at his uncle with a frown.

Mycroft glanced at his nephew dismissively. “I always keep my promises.” He sighed. “And they were quite welcome to your idea.”

Sherlock tried to discern the meaning behind Mycroft’s words. But before he could ask a question, the plane made its descent onto the tarmac, slowing down before turning down the runway to come towards them.

He found himself peering at the windows, looking for signs of the people he loved. But the angle wasn’t right. Sherlock shifted back and forth, doing his best to steady himself. Even after all these years, he couldn’t prepare himself for what he was feeling right now.

Johann’s hand slipped into his, and he found himself smiling in spite of everything. He clasped onto those smaller fingers, thinking to himself that it had only been yesterday that this had been Alex’s hand in his.

“Everything will be all right,” Johann whispered.

He nodded, but it was impossible for him to find words as the stairs were pushed into place and the door finally opened.

A familiar short figure stepped out, moving onto the steps. Sherlock’s grin widened as he watched that odd walk, the slightest hint of a limp combined with an odd shuffle he had memorized back in the day.

John had changed some, true. Sherlock couldn’t say he was surprised to see many more gray hairs than he’d remembered, and a few more pounds around the waist as well. The face he’d come to accept as a part of his daily life had gained a few more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, but as of the moment, Sherlock was only looking at John’s stunning smile.

“Christ Sherlock,” John muttered as he took the steps a little faster. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Sherlock pulled his hand from Johann’s before dashing the last few steps up to the stairway, pausing at the bottom and examining John with an intent to deduce everything that had happened while he was gone. But John’s smile was enough for him. Confirmation that all was well no matter what had occurred in the past.

“Oh come ‘ere you,” John said and reached out to pull Sherlock into a rib crushing hug.

“Don’t let my husband cause you physical harm please, Sherlock,” came a voice from the top.

He looked up to see Mary standing there, smiling as she gazed down at the two of them. Like John, there were obvious changes, but her smile and her intelligent eyes still had that same sharpness, and for a moment Sherlock was reminded that while it was easy to see John in Alex, Mary had her parts too.

“Oh come now, it’s been _years_ ,” John pointed out. “Surely I’m allowed to give him a hug.”

Mary rolled her eyes before addressing Sherlock. “He’s been bouncing in his seat for the last two hours,” she said. “I’m just glad we’re here, that’s all I can say.”

“Pleasure to see you again too, Mary,” Sherlock said as he managed to extricate himself from John.

“Well, John seems to have overestimated your talents as always,” Mary said with a wry smile. “He told me you’d have us out of Moriarty’s clutches by a year.”

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied,” Sherlock said. “All things considered I’d say a dozen isn’t all that bad.”

John chuckled before glancing back. Sherlock caught sight of where the last figure besides the pilot was emerging.

A young girl was stepping timidly out onto the steps. Her arms wrapped around a notebook clutched to her chest. Even without context, Sherlock could easily have figured out who she was. Small statured, yet not without a sense of confidence. Blond hair swept back into a ponytail and expressive blue eyes he knew so well from the last twelve years learning them.

“Well, I suppose I have to introduce you two, given that the last time you met she was in the womb,” John said with a smile. “Meet Sherlock.”

It took Sherlock a moment to realize that John was gesturing to the girl instead of to himself.

“Are you…suggesting that you named your… John, you did realize that the comment about Sherlock being a girl’s name was a joke,” Sherlock said, eyeing the girl in concern.

John grinned and shook his head. “Oh Sherlock, never one to learn. I’m pulling your leg. This is Hope.”

Sherlock swallowed to keep the emotions currently choking him from breaking through. Hope. How aptly named for the thing that had kept Sherlock and the Watsons both going for so many years.

“Come here darling,” Mary said. “This is Sherlock. He’s practically an uncle to you. I mean, from all the stories your father has told you...you probably already know that don’t you?”

Hope gave a half smile though she did mostly glance at her shoes.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said.

“And you as well, Miss Watson,” Sherlock said. “I have been waiting to meet you for a long time. Though you are quite a bit bigger than I’d imagined you’d be on our first meeting.”

John just chuckled and glanced back towards the two figures by the car. “Oh and Mycroft. Why am I not surprised. Guess he was the one who arranged the whole extraction and everything.”

“Not exactly,” Sherlock said.

“And who’s that with him?” John asked, peering towards the limo. “Why’s Mycroft got a kid here? Dear god, please tell me Mycroft didn’t somehow reproduce. Or did he just go ahead and clone himself?”

Sherlock sighed and turned around to make a waving motion at Johann. The boy seemed to get the message and came their way.

“No. There’s someone you need to meet as well, John,” Sherlock said.

He pulled his friend closer, watching with a smile as Johann came towards them, curious yet reserved.

“He’s got the Holmes tall lanky body,” John joked. “You sure he’s not Mycroft’s?”

“He’s not,” Sherlock said. “Because he’s mine. John…I’d like you to meet Johann, my son.”

There was a moment where John stared between the two of them.

“Wait…er…hold on…” he glanced back and forth a few more times. “What’s going on? I think I misheard you…”

Mary snorted from behind him.

“I’m sure you heard me,” Sherlock said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. “But to clarify, Johann is my son. I’d like you to meet him.”

John’s jaw had dropped, mouth agape as he stared at Johann. Mary was positively smirking, folding her arms as she watched her husband’s puzzlement.

“Hold on…you…how…er…did I miss something?” John said, glancing back at Sherlock. “What happened to ‘not really my area?’”

Sherlock smiled. “I adopted a child, found out how much I loved having a family. And in losing the battle I lost the whole war. So yes, here you’ll find me with a child of my own.”

“And er…are you…married?” John asked, squinting at Sherlock’s hand.

“Not yet,” Sherlock said. “But…to be honest I was actually waiting on you. I…” he broke off, clearing his throat, “John, I would love to have you as my best man…if you’re willing.”

John blinked a few times, clearly trying to straighten out his thoughts. Between the shock of the moment and his jetlag, it took him a minute or so before he answered.

“Of course,” John said, voice sounding slightly choked. “Of course I’d be your best man.” He let out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. “Oh come here you.”

And before Sherlock could say anything John was pulling him into another tight embrace. Sherlock surrendered to it, merely glad to have those familiar arms around him again.

“I’d propose to her first though, Sherlock,” Mary said with a smirk.

He looked up at her and nodded, realizing she was right. He had to ask Molly. And this time, he knew he didn’t need a fancy dinner or any grand romantic speeches. He knew exactly how to ask. Sherlock smiled at the thought, hoping it would go as well as he imagined it would. After all, she had sounded willing to wait until he’d defeated Moriarty. She’d sounded interested.

“Er…dare I ask who the lucky lady is?” John asked, frowning, pulling away enough to give Sherlock a quizzical look. “I mean, she must be quite spectacular to make you consider going through with marriage. After everything you said at my wedding… dear god she must be an angel or something.”

“No, she’s not a ridiculous fantasy creature,” Sherlock said with a snort. Though even he had to admit that Molly could indeed be an angel in some layman’s imagination. Lovely and smart, so perfectly capable. And by the fact that she’d saved him so many times over.

“So?”

“Oh John,” Mary said with a sigh. “Just look at the boy’s eyes for heaven’s sake! Or his nose.”

John peered at Johann for a moment, trying to figure out what Mary had already discerned. Johann put on his best smile and stood there.

“Er…”

“My last name really should be Holmes-Hooper,” Johann said with a small shy smile. “Especially considering they’re not married and all. But mum’s a bit traditional in her own ways. So Johann Holmes it was.”

“Hooper?” John gasped. “Molly Hooper? You’ve got to be having me on!”

“I’m afraid not,” Sherlock said with a smile.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Watson,” Johann said. “If nothing else. Alex looks so much like you, though I can see a little of Mrs. Watson in him too.”

Mary smiled at that, reaching out to put a hand on Hope’s shoulder.

“So…you took him in then?” John asked, glancing at Sherlock. “And how did that go?”

“Much better than might have been expected,” Mycroft drawled as he stepped forward. “I assure you, John, I’d never have let him keep the boy had he not done a decent job of it.”

John eyed Sherlock over. “So the drugs?”

“I’m done with all that,” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand. “I don’t need it.”

He didn’t admit that this was easier said than done. But this wasn’t a day to get too caught up on the facts. He’d let John believe the better story for now.

“What’s he turned out like then?” John asked, straightening up some. “Our son…what’s he like?”

“Like you,” Sherlock said automatically. “Though I do think he’s a tad bit smarter.”

“He’s captain of the football team,” Johann added. “And a black belt. And he does running and shooting in his spare time. The rare moments he has besides that he loves to read. He usually curls up with Westley (that’s his cat) and he picks out a book and just lays there for a few minutes absorbing it.”

“And,” Mycroft said calmly, “while he’s a brilliant and fully capable young man…I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.”

Sherlock swallowed and closed his eyes. If Mycroft was willing to do this for him, he’d allow his brother to speak for once.

“Alexander is currently in the hospital,” Mycroft said.

Sherlock opened his eyes to look at John and Mary, noticing the way John’s eyes filled with worry and grief, how Mary tensed as though ready to make a run if she needed to. Hope just frowned and glanced at both of her parents, drawing closer to Mary.

Mycroft held up a hand. “Before you ask, he is fine. He took a bullet to the shoulder in the capture of Moriarty. But he will heal and should recover nicely. But…I should make you aware that there is a more pressing issue than that. Prior to Moriarty’s capture, Alexander was working for him…as an assassin. Once he is well enough to leave the hospital, I’m afraid he will be turned over to Scotland Yard.”

It was impossible to muster the strength to look John in the eye. Sherlock chose to stare at the ground instead. He could hear the sharp intake of breath, picture John trying to maintain some hold on his already fragile emotions.

“But Uncle Mycroft is taking care of it,” Johann added.

Sherlock glanced up in time to see one of Mycroft’s wry smiles.

“I’m doing my best,” he said. “But even I have my limitations on the kinds of miracles I can work.”

“Can we see him?” John asked. “Before....” he trailed off, and Sherlock looked at him and caught the tears lingering in his eyes.

“Yes,” Mycroft said. “Of course. You’ll have some time to talk things over, I’m sure. I’ve already informed Lestrade that this is one case he’ll have to wait on pursuing.”

John nodded, shifting a bit from foot to foot.

“Perhaps we should go ahead and take them over to the hospital then,” Johann suggested.

Mary smiled at the boy. “That might be for the best. Thank you, Johann. It really is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Johann said with a charming smile. “Now, why don’t you let us get you over to the hospital before it gets any later. I’m guessing you could all use some good rest afterwards.”

“Quite right,” John said with a sigh. “Between anxiety of being extricated from the hands of a psychotic criminal’s henchmen and more than a day’s worth of travel and jetlag…well I’m thoroughly ready to just collapse onto a bed. Or even the floor if I’m being perfectly honest.”

“Well, we’ll try to see to it that your visit is quick,” Mycroft said, moving over towards the car to open one of the doors. “Now, if you don’t mind…I do have some business to take care of besides putting my little brother’s life back together.”

“Oh stop it,” Sherlock snapped. “As though you would be this far without me. Had I died on my mission as you’d expected no one would ever have defeated Moriarty. He would have taken over the world, created complete and total chaos.”

“Both of you,” Johann said in a stern voice, “get in the car and discuss this later. John and Mary have been waiting more than a decade to see their son, and for god’s sakes they shouldn’t have to wait any longer just because you two can’t settle your affairs.”

“I couldn’t have put it any better myself,” John agreed. He gave a small smile at Sherlock, then a nod to Mycroft before stepping into the car.

“So good to have you back,” Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

Mary chuckled and leaned in to pull him into a quick hug.

“It really is, Sherlock. Thank you.” She pulled Hope over to the door to help her into the car.

He nodded, again staying silent to avoid letting any of his overwhelming emotions choke his voice. Johann, of course, seemed to notice and reached over to put a hand on his arm.

“It’s fine. They’re home safe. Everything’s going to be all right now.”

Sherlock sighed. “Is it? With Alex and…everything else. Things will never be the same again, Johann.”

“No,” the boy agreed. “But we’ll make it work. We always do.”

Sherlock smiled at that, and without another thought, slipped into the car.

* * *

 

 

The drive was mostly in silence. Sherlock did ask a few questions about the Watson’s time in the Australian outback. Johann had made a point of explaining to him Moriarty’s logic in placing them there, and John and Mary both admitted that all their plans of escape had been crushed easily. But mostly, Sherlock took the drive as a moment to think about what he’d already stated. Everything was going to be different from that moment on.

By the time they arrived to the hospital, Sherlock wasn’t sure how much the Watsons could handle. John looked about ready to fall asleep on his feet, and Hope had already done so twice in the car. Only Mary remained vigilant, but even her shoulders were drooping some.

At the door to Alex’s room, Sherlock noted that there was a visitor as he peered through the window. Molly had promised to stay with Alex, but from all appearances, she’d apparently left to take a break. But instead, Thomas was there, sitting at Alex’s side and clasping his hand. As Sherlock watched for a moment, he saw tears on the other boy’s cheeks. And he realized what this had to be. Alex knew this couldn’t continue. And he was initiating a breakup.

But just as he was about to turn and say something to John about waiting a moment to go in, he caught sight of Thomas leaning in to kiss Alex firmly on the mouth.

Sherlock glanced back at John in time to see his jaw drop.

“God is that…”

“Thomas,” Sherlock said warily. “Alex’s boyfriend. I’m sure he’ll be gone in a minute or two.”

Based on the amount of tears, likely only a few more seconds.

John licked his lips and glanced at the window and then at Sherlock again. “Er so Alex is…er…”

“Gay,” Johann added helpfully. “Quite.” He glanced at Sherlock. “I have to go help Uncle Lestrade. You can handle it from here?”

Sherlock nodded, still looking at where the two boys were kissing and wondering how this was going to all pan out. Johann disappeared without another word.

John glanced at Mary, becoming more flustered by the second. “That’s fine,” he said after a second. “Er…yeah it’s just fine.”

“Of course it’s fine,” Sherlock said, voicing coming out a little tighter than he’d expected. But after all, Alex was his to protect. And the last thing he wanted was John rejecting him. He couldn’t take that.

“Well, I always knew,” Mary said folding her arms. “So, after weeping ex-boyfriend is out of the way…I’ll just go ahead and let him know it doesn’t bother me in the least.”

“You knew?” John asked staring at her. “How? He was _five_ when you last saw him.”

Mary shrugged. “Mother’s just know these things, John. I had my suspicions, let’s just say that.”

She was interrupted by Thomas opening the door and fleeing off down the hall. Johann frowned and glanced towards the doorway where they could see Alex with his head in his hands.

“Bad time?” Sherlock asked, reaching over to rap twice on the now already open door.

Alex looked up, a few tears coming from his eyes as well. He wiped them away hastily with his good shoulder and shook his head.

“‘S fine,” he said, swallowing.

“Alex…they’re here,” Sherlock managed before opening the door a little wider to allow John and Mary and Hope into the room.

Alex froze, staring up at the people he’d thought to be dead for so long.

“Mum,” he whispered. “Dad?”

Sherlock felt like something inside him was breaking. Hadn’t it been only a few years ago Alex had called him “dad” by mistake? And yet this was what he’d wanted. How could it be making him feel like this?

Mary is the first one to the bedside. She takes a look at Alex’s shoulder wound before moving to wrap him in a hug that avoids the injured sight.

“My boy,” she whispered softly.

And of course, after her minute or two holding him and kissing his temple, John moved over to get his turn, pulling Alex to him and whispering that he was so glad to see him and that he was so incredibly happy.

Sherlock stood there a moment, but it became very quickly apparent that he wasn’t a part of what was going on. Not anymore. He didn’t belong there.

He exited as quietly as he could, shutting the door softly behind him. Sherlock tried to think about what he should do. Perhaps Lestrade could use some extra help. Or he could go see to Mrs. Hudson and calm her down form the panicked state she’d likely worked herself up into. Or he could…

He bumped into someone in his train of thought, startling him out of it. He looked up to see Molly, a laptop clutched to her chest.

“Oh, there you are!” Molly said with a smile. “Are they here then? Did everything go well?”

Sherlock nodded. “Safe and sound. Visiting with Alex.”

“Perfect,” Molly said. “I stepped out when Thomas came by. Figured he and Alex could use some space. But I also was thinking that John and Mary would probably love to see some photos. And we do have such lovely ones from when he was younger, and I just couldn’t help but think it would be perfect to let Mary and John see him growing up.”

Sherlock nodded. “That is true.”

Molly smiled and started to head to the room, only to have Sherlock catch her hand.

“Molly, there’s…something I must ask you,” Sherlock said.

“Yes?”

“Now…now that Moriarty is gone and John and Mary are back,” Sherlock began, doing his best to take steady calming breath. “I find I have no more excuses as to why we couldn’t…make it official.”

“Make what official?” Molly asked, gazing at him curiously. “What are you saying, Sherlock?”

He squeezed her hand a little more tightly in his. “I didn’t have time to get a ring. But I’d rather you pick it out anyways…make it something that suits you. And for the time being, I don’t need outer symbols. Merely the knowledge that you feel as I do.” He took a deep breath. “Molly Hooper, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Her eyes widened for a moment, but whatever shock she was feeling was quickly overcome by a beautiful smile.

“Yes. You did it right this time,” she said. “I’ll marry you…if you’re certain it’s what you want.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. And he smiled because it was true, he’d never felt more certain of anything before. “Yes. I do.”

* * *

 

 

“I do,” Sherlock said, one week later, standing beside Molly in the small chapel Molly had insisted she wanted to have the ceremony in.

He glanced over at her, looking at the modest green dress she’d chosen instead of some gaudy white nonsense that most women insisted was necessary.

“Well I’m not exactly deserving of the virginal white anymore, am I?” Molly had laughed when he’d asked.

So here they were, hand in hand standing before some ancient priest whom Sherlock had a good feeling drank more than just communion wine for his pleasure, who was binding them together in some ridiculous ceremony. And while most of him wanted to point out all the ridiculousness of old traditions, he kept noticing the ones Molly had decided to completely forget.

John had a shirt and tie, but no ridiculous suit. And Sherlock himself had been told to just dress in whatever suited him. John had made a point of telling him to wear something more than a sheet, but beyond that…

There was no cake. There would be no fancy reception with flower throwing and dancing and any of that. But Mrs. Hudson had cooked up something back at the flat for the lot of them. And Sherlock had realized that this was why he loved Molly so much. Because he was willing to give in and give her marriage, and she was willing to give in and give up a wedding.

“And the vows?” the priest asked.

Molly smiled and looked at Sherlock first. He cleared his throat, doing his best to steady his heartbeat that had suddenly climbed into an unusually fast pace.

“I thought of writing some sort of nonsense one usually hears at weddings. Long dramatic speeches about how much I’m going to love you and all that,” Sherlock said.

John chuckled behind him, giving Sherlock the much needed push to continue.

“Or perhaps to google one. After all, these things are widely available on the internet…” he broke off for a moment, looking into Molly’s eyes. “But I didn’t need that really. Because the words are already right here, in my mind, and I only needed to look for them and find them readily available. I don’t want to give you mushy promises that I know I’ll never keep. After all, we both know when you get sick it’s Mrs. Hudson who will nurse you back to health. And that there will be no poorer while you’re off being a brilliant doctor, even as my own detective business has declined in terms of revenue (probably due to John disappearing if I’m honest).”

There were a few more laughs from those attending, and Molly’s smile was so wide even as a few tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

“And I don’t really care much about death parting us,” Sherlock said. “Probably because you’ve been responsible for bringing me back on at least two occasions, and really what more can one say about dying than that.

“But…Molly Hooper, I do promise that I will always care for you. You have been one of my dearest friends, one who was there for me when I was alone in dire need. You have been my sweet lover, willing to sacrifice her own needs in favor of indulging mine. And you have been the dedicated mother to my son, even as you continue to cut open bodies and run a fully working lab. And what more can I want in anyone than that. To have someone who completes me so thoroughly and so perfectly… I promise to love you, Molly. I promise that and it’s enough.”

Molly let out something halfway between a sob and a laugh. She pulled one hand away to put it over her mouth.

“And vows for the bride?” the priest intoned.

Molly smiled and cleared her throat. “Er…I really had the same thought, Sherlock…that I’d just better say something on my own instead of finding some rubbish on the internet. It’s not like other people’s relationships, ours. So I really don’t think pre-made vows would work. So many of my friends don’t get it. They’ve questioned me over and over again. But I know when I look at you, and Alex, and Johann, I’ve made the right choice. I promise the same, Sherlock. I promise to be here for you when you need me. I promise to do my best to be understanding of you and all your…” she smiled and waved a hand towards all of him, “And I promise to love you.”

Sherlock turned out most of the rest of the obnoxious dialogue from the priest. He was still staring at Molly, trying to wrap his mind around the words she’d said. He almost missed the instruction to take the rings, though thankfully John cleared his throat.

Johann had them, a sort of unofficial ring bearer. Sherlock took them and thanked him, sliding on the small plain ring that Molly had chosen. She’d claimed it was better to have something that wouldn’t become filthy in the lab anyways, in case she ever forgot to take it off.

“And by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest said. “You may kiss.”

There was a second’s pause before Molly’s lips were on his. Sherlock let her have her moment, before he pulled away to turn to the small group gathered.

He shook his head when he saw Mrs. Hudson wiping her face with a handkerchief, and sighed knowingly as he noted Mycroft crossing his arms. John was grinning, even though he still had something of an incredulous look on his face. And Mary just looked incredibly pleased.

But Sherlock’s eyes drifted over to where Lestrade sat next to Alex. The detective seemed happy enough, but Sherlock’s attention was diverted to the cuffs on Alex’s wrists. It should never have been this way. He sighed, pulled back to the moment by Molly’s hand on his arm. Grounded in the fact that not everything was falling apart as badly as he felt it was.

The rest of it was a blur. He hardly remembered being shuttled back to Baker Street, or someone sitting him down in his chair with a plate of sweets.

But there he was, watching the world move on around him while he remained still.

“I have news,” a voice suddenly said.

He looked up to see Alex standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“News?”

Alex swallowed and nodded. “I’m not going to jail. Lestrade has to keep me in custody for now. But this evening…I’m being transported. It’s all been arranged.”

“Arranged?” Sherlock said, raising one brow. He set the plate aside and folded his hands. He was listening. He’d never make the same mistake again with Alex. He would listen, from now on.

“Mycroft,” Alex said. “He said to think of it like a wedding present. Er…I’m going to go work for the government. Intelligence. I’ll be under a contract.”

“And the killings? How will those simply disappear?”

“Lestrade’s going to announce that they were done by Moriarty,” Alex said with a slight shrug. “It’s all worked out.”

John had suddenly turned his head, apparently catching some bit of the conversation.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I’m going to work for MI6,” Alex said calmly, staring Sherlock in the eye as he said it. “And in return, my crimes will be forgotten. Mycroft said they preferred not allowing a valuable asset to go to waste. And he said there were other factors in the equation as well, though what they are I don’t know yet.”

Sherlock glanced around the room. He’d half expected John to be upset, but instead it was Mary who looked the most torn. But with her background, Sherlock supposed that made some amount of sense.

“And will it be dangerous?” John asked. “Your work?”

“They can’t send me on field work until I’m a legal adult,” Alex said calmly. “But when they do in a few months…it’s possible, yes.”

“So you’re signing on for possible death,” John said, mouth twitching. “They’re going to just put you out into danger now because you’re disposable.”

Sherlock noted John’s hand curling and he decided to stop it before it could go further. But before he could speak, Alex beat him to it.

“It’s better than life in a cage,” Alex pointed out. “With all my killings I’d get life. Guaranteed. There’s no way around that. An entire life spent behind bars. And so yes, I’ll put myself in danger to avoid that. To get a chance to come home and see my family and you sometimes. Or to one day marry and start my own family. To have an opportunity to have just a fraction of the normalcy I’ve so rarely been allowed.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, but he could tell Mary and John had no response to that. It hadn’t been lost on Sherlock that Alex had referred to Sherlock and Molly as “my family.”

“There, I think that’s all that needs to be said about it,” Sherlock said calmly.

John nodded, though Mary had folded her arms and didn’t look as though she was quite willing to let the issue slide.

In the meantime, Sherlock considered on his own. He was torn. Part of him longed to rejoice. What Alex had said was true, that prison would probably be just as good as death to him. He could picture the boy fading over time. Locked away from all he loved and cared about. But he knew well enough to be aware that missions could be dangerous. Alex would never be fully out of the danger Sherlock had hoped to completely remove from his life.

“Fine,” John said with a sigh. “Fine, you’re right. No, I’m…I’m still getting used to the fact that you’re…all grown up. I still expect to look over and see the little boy you were, not the man you’ve become.”

Alex gave a half smile at that. “I understand. This isn’t easy on any of us. But we must make the best of it.”

John looked like he might say something, but Lestrade pushed over and touched Alex’s arm.

“Mycroft gave me the warning. We need to be going.”

“Thanks,” the boy muttered, sighing before he looked at his father and mother. “Well, I guess I should say my goodbyes then. I’m told I’ll be doing training for at least six months. I doubt I’ll get a leave to come visit for a while.”

Mary was on him in a second, hugging him tightly. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Alex nodded and then kissed her cheek. He turned to John next.

“Well,” John said. “I’ve always been shit at goodbyes. But I’ll give it my best. I’m so glad we were able to see you again…er…we’ll be in touch, all right?”

“Thanks, dad,” Alex said before leaning in for the offered hug.

Sherlock rose out of his chair, doing his best to step out of the way in time for Molly to come running through, grabbing hold of Alex and smothering him in yet another embrace.

“We’ll miss you. Please promise to come home safe.”

“I can’t promise anything, Molly,” Alex said, barely managing to extract himself. “But I’ll do my best.” He glanced at Sherlock then, a smile in place. “I’m glad I could be here for your happy day at least. Someone had to see you two married.”

“Well, just because a certain little boy seemed convinced I was in love with Miss Hooper,” Sherlock said, doing his best to keep his voice steady. “It won’t be the same without you, Alex.”

“No,” Alex agreed. “Things won’t ever be the same again. But that’s life for you. Always changing around us.”

Sherlock swallowed, his throat seeming to tighten up on him even as he moved forward to give Alex one last hug.

“I love you,” he murmured. “Always. And you will always be like a son to me.”

Alex laughed and pulled away. A single tear ran down one cheek, but he smiled in spite of it. “‘Like’ is ridiculous. You’ll always be my father, Sherlock. I’ll always think of you as my dad. I know that might sound awful but…it’s true.”

Sherlock was worried for a moment that John might be upset. But instead he felt a hand on his shoulder. And when he looked back, John’s smile was as large as it had ever been.

“You’ve been good to him,” John said. “Thank you. God, Sherlock. I’d never imagined but…thank you.”

“All right,” Lestrade said, shifting from foot to foot. “We really do need to get going. If you’re all done.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He pulled back to examine Alex, wondering how much more the boy would change before they met again. For the moment, he simply did his best to absorb the small details and tuck them away in his mind palace. Never had memory had more importance to him.

There were footsteps on the stairs. The door to 221 opening and shutting before Sherlock moved to the window. He watched Alex walk to the car and get in with Lestrade’s help.

For a moment, the merriment in the flat faded around him. He watched the street, stared as the car pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the next corner.

But while it was easy to see the moment as an end, Sherlock resolved that it must be viewed as what it was. A beginning.

And with that in mind, he closed the curtain, and turned back to those he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok so…that’s the last official long chapter. But I’m going to include a shorter epilogue after this. Also, keep in mind I’m open to writing oneshot requests if anyone wants anything further. I’ve decided that collection will be called “Blink and You Miss It” So stay tuned for that. 
> 
> Thank you to all my wonderful commenters! Seriously, you are so great and definitely kept me going on finishing this thing. We are almost done!


	35. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which events from 10 years later are unfolded and the story is reluctantly concluded.

_10 years later…_

The music swelled, Johann putting a little more pressure on the keyboard as he crescendoed up. Mrs. Hudson cooed and clapped her hands, clearly delighted by the little performance, feeding into the boy’s ego and keeping him going.

Sherlock sighed and settled down beside Molly, pleased at having had the work of playing Christmas music removed from him.

“Glooooooooooooooria,” Mrs. Hudson chorused.

Sherlock resolved to remove her wine glass at the next opportunity.

“Kid gets better every year,” Lestrade muttered as he grabbed another helping of pudding. “With all that talent he must have a girlfriend by now.”

“Or boyfriend,” Molly said. “But no. He remains… ‘unattached.’”

Sherlock decided it was better to leave her in her ignorance. After all, they had enough time before he settled down at least that casual flings really didn’t matter all that much.

“But Harry’s mentioned Ella has a boyfriend,” Molly said with a smile. “Isn’t that right?”

Harry Watson snorted and shrugged. “Talking about moving in with him too. Here’s hoping it doesn’t last. Hey brother, when’s your girl getting married?”

“Not anytime soon I hope,” John said with a smile. “Two children married…lord knows how that would go.”

“Well, with her tendency to rush into decisions,” Sherlock said. “And with her casual partner she met at a bar last week…I’d give you three weeks before you’re finding a ring on her finger.”

“Shut up,” John said, glowering as he downed another swallow of his drink. “Perish the thought.”

Johann stopped playing and stood up, causing Mrs. Hudson to make a noise of disapproval and shoot a glare at the bunch of them.

“All right, enough talking about your children like they’re not here,” Johann said, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ll let you know if I ever seriously date anyone. I’ve already told you that. Ella is allowed to have a boyfriend, and your approval isn’t needed. John, there are worse things than your daughter finding someone to marry. And father, your judgement isn’t needed here.”

Without another word he stalked over to the window, staring out for a moment before settling himself against the frame to watch.

“Did he text you?” Sherlock asked.

“Yeah,” Johann muttered, brushing a lock of hair out of his eyes. “Two days ago. Said he’d be here at seven.”

Sherlock glanced at the clock, catching that it was nearly seven thirty.

“He’ll be here,” John said, even as he took another large gulp of his drink. “Never you worry, Jo.”

The teenager sighed and sank a little further into the wood.

“You heard anything from him recently, John?” Molly asked, twisting her napkin nervously.

“Not a bit,” John said. “But then again, it’s Mary who usually puts in more effort than I do.”

Mary sighed. “Last I talked to him was three months ago. Wanted advice about Kazakhstan.”

Sherlock frowned at that, but he stopped himself from fully completing a deduction. It was better not to know, honestly. He’d figured that out after the first mission that had landed Alex in the hospital. Better not to think about the realities and dangers of what he was facing every day.

Johann suddenly straightened and gasped.

“They’re here!”

Sherlock folded his hands, doing his best to stay seated even as he wanted to run towards the sound of car doors closing.

There were footsteps on the stairs.

“Hello? Mrs. H?”

“Ooh,” Mrs. Hudson said, looking like she might stand, hand flailing for her cane. But Johann gave her a quick glare and beat her to rushing to the door.

“We’re up here!” Johann called, bouncing as he watched figures appear on the stairway.

“Calm down,” Alex said with a laugh as he finally managed to get through the doorway. “Dear lord, how much sugar have you had tonight?”

“Coffee,” Johann said. “I’m eighteen, not eight.”

Alex rolled his eyes, but did indulge his younger brother in a quick hug before pulling away, looking up at Johann with a look of clear joy in his eyes.

“It’s good to see you again,” Alex said. “So, I heard there are final plans in the mix?”

“Yes,” Johann said. “After some consideration, I’ve decided to go to America for my studies. I’ve been accepted at Berkeley to continue in their biology department. Aunt Bea is positively delighted I’ll be coming back to visit more often now.”

“I’ll try to swing by if I’m ever in the neighborhood,” Alex said. “Though I don’t think there are any plans for that anytime soon.”

“No, you don’t,” a voice confirmed from behind him.

Sherlock shook his head, admiring the way Rahim was still carrying all of the presents up, patiently balancing the multiple packages even as his glasses began to slide down his nose from the angle his chin was at to keep them tucked against his chest.

“Rahim, you need to get him scheduled over there as much as possible,” Johann joked.

Rahim chuckled and shook his head. “Not much call for America other than the occasional meeting with CIA. But they usually just video conference us when they can. And besides, Mycroft removed me from having anything to do with Alex’s work schedule years ago. I merely know it, I don’t influence it.”

He managed to set most of the presents on the coffee table, though Alex had actually stopped to help him with the last few. Sherlock noted the way Alex’s ring glinted in the light, freshly polished. He nodded at that, before looking up at Rahim for any other signs that would set him at ease.

The kiss Alex delivered to the man’s cheek was more than enough. Three years of marriage and still happy. Sherlock only held onto the hope that it would continue in the same way.

“We’ll try to schedule some vacation time over in California then,” Rahim suggested. “Come visit you.”

Johann sighed dramatically, but his smile said what he was really feeling.

“Now, before we do anything else, Rahim and I have a gift for you four,” Alex said, nodding to Sherlock and Molly and then his own parents.

Rahim smiled and reached for a small box on top, passing it over to Sherlock and Molly and encouraging the Watsons to scoot closer to see.

“Please say this isn’t cruise tickets or some other nonsense,” Sherlock muttered, watching as Molly undid the bow before tearing into the paper, pulling it back to reveal a box.

“Oh, like you couldn’t benefit from a little time with just you and Molly,” John scoffed.

“It’s for all four of us, John, I believe I’d have to deal with you and your wife too,” he said.

“If you don’t behave I’m taking it away,” Alex said threateningly, even as he snuggled closer to his husband.

Molly finally managed to get the box open, pulling out a small piece of paper. Sherlock eyed it in confusion, especially when he realized it was a photo, not just a note of some kind. Molly turned it over to reveal.

“Oh my god,” Molly gasped. “Oh…it’s…you’re…”

“Yep,” Alex said, grinning.

“Fuck,” John somehow managed, reaching for his drink again. “But…er…wait…did you two?”

“It’s from a surrogate,” Rahim explained. “She’s about four months. And we’ve already been told its—”

“A girl,” Sherlock said, staring down at the sonogram photo and doing his best to keep it together. “You’re…having a child?”

“Yes,” Alex said, beaming as he glanced between the four shocked faces of his parents. Or rather three. Mary appeared to once again be unsurprised.

“So that makes us…” Molly said, clearly on the verge of tears.

“Grandparents,” Alex said. “We decided we’d leave it to you to work out your chosen titles to her. But that is indeed the reality. You four are going to get a beautiful little granddaughter in five months’ time.”

Sherlock was stunned. He tried to form words, but his mouth seemed unable to do anything but hang open in silent astonishment. Molly giggled beside him, wrapping her hand in his.

“We’re going to love her,” Molly said with a brilliant smile. “I’m so happy for you two!”

“Congratulations,” John said, though Sherlock could see the midlife crisis he was finding himself in at the news.

“You’ll have to keep us updated,” Mary said. “Though are you sure this is wise? Starting a family when you’re…well…”

Alex sighed. “Rahim is in tech. Less risk. He’ll be fine. And to be honest, what I started to realize is that I grew up without my parents and turned out just fine. And it’s not like a doctor or nurse are expected to have horrible circumstances like yours. My job is what it is. I’m merely making the best of it.”

Sherlock nodded. It was true. Life was short. Alex was in love. He wanted a family of his own, and why shouldn’t he have that?

“I think it will be fine,” Sherlock said after a moment. “After all, he’ll have us to support him however he needs. He always will.”

Alex smiled at him, curling his hand into Rahim’s and clutching it tightly.

“What the hell,” John muttered. “I’m bloody proud of you, all right? It’s a shock, but I’m happy to hear the news, I really am.”

“Even if it’s making him resort to drinking,” Sherlock muttered.

He had a pillow chucked at him, though John’s aim was impaired enough that it sailed past his head.

“I’m going to be the best uncle,” Johann said with a goofy grin. “Though I do believe this could be hard if I’m in America. Maybe I'll think about coming back here at some point. I don’t want to miss you sucking at being a parent.”

“He’d never suck,” John grumbled. “After having Sherlock Holmes as a father, I’m not sure he could possibly do any worse.”

Mary laughed and smiled at Sherlock. “I think he’ll do quite well. They both will.”

“We are still here you know,” Alex said with an eye roll.

“Yes,” Sherlock said. “I suppose you are.”

He stood up and went over to Alex. He laid one hand on his shoulder, though he did glance at Rahim as he did so too.

“You’ll both do well. I know you will,” Sherlock said. “But if you need anything…you let us know. Molly or I or your parents will all help with whatever needs doing. And if you might recall, I’m not so terrible at babysitting, nor is Molly, so you’re welcome to find nights for yourselves too. But all things considered, I only see a child strengthening the love you already share.”

“Wow, that was incredibly cheesy,” Alex said with a chuckle. He nonetheless leaned in, putting his arms around Sherlock and catching him in a tight hug.

Sherlock held the smaller man to him, sighing as he thought about how much they’d have to prepare for in the coming years. But if he’d learned anything, it was that some challenges in lie were worth it. And this moment certainly seemed like it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was incredibly cheesy...but I did promise you fluff so there you are!
> 
> I wanted to let all of you know my oneshot Parent continuations story is up. It is called [Blink And You Miss It](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5811127) . So check that out if you're interested and send me requests if you'd like. No guarantees when I'll get to them as I do need to catch up on the WIP I've been neglecting to finish this.  
> Thank you so much to all the people who've supported me. Loved all the comments and kudoes I've received. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I did. I'll miss you all!


End file.
